


There are none so blind as those who cannot see

by sherlock221Bismymuse



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst and Romance, Angst with a Happy Ending, Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, Greg is Sweet, Greg is the best, Idiots in Love, John is a Good Friend, M/M, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Protective Greg, Sickfic, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-18
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2019-08-04 01:24:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 25,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16337063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlock221Bismymuse/pseuds/sherlock221Bismymuse
Summary: Sherlock injures himself while conducting an experiment. John has travels planned and Greg steps in to take care.Will familiarity breed contempt..........or something else?!





	1. Chapter 1

They had spent three gruelling weeks solving a frustrating and complicated case involving a child kidnapping which took them out of London on a wild goose chase. Twice. Sherlock had not eaten or slept well and John had nagged and worried but now finally it was over. It was the woman’s brother’s father-in-law who had done it and Lestrade had him arrested before he could kidnap the younger child.

John was sitting in his chair that morning, having finally had a relaxing shower. He was reading the papers, wriggling his toes and generally relaxing when he heard an explosion in the kitchen. It startled him of course but then it was nothing very unusual when Sherlock was busy experimenting.

What made him leap up in a panic and rush there was the string of curses he heard emerging. Sherlock, the posh genius, for all his quick temper and borderline manic behaviour, rarely, if ever, used foul language.

John rushed in to find Sherlock almost howling in pain and doubled over, covering his eyes.

“Sherlock! What the hell have you done?!” John almost yelled at him while dragging him by the elbows to the sink and running the tap. He pulled Sherlock’s hands away and helped him wash his eyes for almost two entire minutes till he was sure the contaminant was washed out.

When he finally released Sherlock the detective looked dazed and his eyes were bloodshot.

“Jesus CHRIST Sherlock, how can you be so careless?! FUCK!!” John was absolutely livid. “We have to go to the A&E right away.”

It was summer so he just dispensed with the coats, picked up his wallet and keys and guided the younger man down the stairs. He knocked on Mrs Hudson’s door and informed her rapidly of what had happened.

“Oh Sherlock!” she said in her usual despairing way.

She managed to get him a towel soaked in ice water (with unexpected alacrity given her hip!) so that by the time they flagged down a taxi, Sherlock was able to obtain some minor relief from the terrible pain.

“St. Bart’s” John almost barked at the cabbie. “It’s an emergency.”

.

.

Two and half hours later, John marched back up the stairs at Baker Street with a traumatized Sherlock (having left behind an equally traumatized A&E full of residents, doctors and nurses who all prayed fervently that the man would never need emergency care again).

Mycroft had of course got a notification the second Sherlock was logged into the A&E and had texted John who had given him a caustic update.

{Your genius brother does not realize that his body functions like us ordinary humans.}

Mycroft had read that message and sighed.

_Yes, Dr Watson_. He thought to himself. _He does not realize that his heart also functions like one. Pity._

And he had looked out of the window with the mildly tragic faraway look that his eyes took on whenever he dwelled upon thoughts of his younger brother.

.

.

Mrs Hudson had been waiting for them upstairs with some ice trays and of course a cup of tea at the ready. She had also managed to bake Sherlock’s favourite biscuits in those two hours and John’s sub-conscious noted how Sherlock somehow managed to evoke such depths of rage as well as love from the people close to him.

John guided Sherlock to the sofa and despite his serious levels of annoyance at the _idiot_ , he gently helped him sit down. Sherlock’s eyes had been bandaged to keep the ointment in and to reduce the photophobia caused by the damage to the cornea. He had been given drops to be put on a regular basis and needless to say, asked to stay indoors with his eyes covered.

The way he had reacted to these instructions was as though he had been asked to butcher a basket full of fluffy bunnies. _Come to think of it, that’s a bad example_ thought John. _He might just do that happily for an experiment._ His reaction of utter outrage was as if he had been told that he needed to work under Mycroft or report to Anderson at Scotland Yard. John thought that the howl from Sherlock could have woken up the dead in the morgue.

He just sat there wondering how this genius could be such a prize idiot and treat his body so casually and callously. _How could he behave as though he was not human?_

He took advantage of the fact that Sherlock could not see him and had a quiet word with the doctor in A&E who had willingly prescribed an extra week of rest for the eyes more than the condition warranted. John was determined to make Sherlock really feel the value of his ‘transport’ and the cost of neglecting and even abusing it like this.

He spoke to Molly and then to Greg while he was waiting at the hospital and they all agreed that not only did Sherlock need the rest after the recent case but he really did need to learn to be more careful.

When the call was over both Molly and Greg privately wondered if enforced house arrest was going to give Sherlock rest or end up with John in the A&E but they could only hope for the best.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So began what they all referred to afterwards as The Case of the Blind Detectives and the Opening of the Inner Eye.

So began what they all referred to afterwards as The Case of the Blind Detectives and the Opening of the Inner Eye.

The next evening Greg came over to 221B to see how bad the situation was and found John sitting on the sofa with his head in his hands.

“That bad huh?!” Greg said by way of greeting.

“What?” John looked up. “Oh…yeah, no, that’s not it. He is better today with the painkillers. I just completely forgot that I had signed up for a conference in Aberdeen and then a week away with my old RAMC mates in Scotland. It was planned ages ago and I am going to have to cancel and they are going to hate me. Or kill me…….or something.” He groaned.

“When were you supposed to go?” Greg asked.

“Day after tomorrow! And be back after ten days. Now there is no way I can leave him can I?” He said, despair as well as concern writ large on his face.

Greg thought for a second. “You know I haven’t taken leave in simply ages and there is no active case going on that Sally can’t handle. I could take leave and stay here and look after him.”

John just stared at him like he had gone mad. “You would? I mean …you would voluntarily look after Himself when he is unwell and in a bad temper??!”

Greg shook his head a bit sadly and gave a wry smile. “Been there done that before John. Many times….. Too many times.”

John’s eyes widened. “Oh yes, I had forgotten. Well… not like anyone ever really told me the details,” he frowned. “But yes, the missing years. You were there for him for all of them.”

Greg shrugged. “Needs must when the devil drives …….”He looked off into the distance, clearly thinking of unhappy times. Then he came to and said briskly, “But the offer stands. I think you give up a lot for Sherlock already. You deserve this break and to meet your old friends. I could also do with a break.” He paused. “Things have not been too great lately.”

_What a typical stoic understatement_ , John thought to himself. _Greg’s divorce had come through and though it was finally by mutual consent he knew that Greg was sentimental enough to have felt hurt-- by the betrayal and the failure and even the guilt. Even if it had become inevitable by that point and they both needed to move on and find happiness if they had a chance._

John was under no illusions about how difficult the next week was going to be. If not himself then the only other person he would trust to get through and survive it would be Greg. Mycroft would be able to manage of course but Sherlock would probably ty to kill him at the end of it.

So he gave out a sigh of relief and asked again. “Are you sure mate? You know what they say in the army about _never volunteer_?”

“Yeah,” Greg gave his sudden grin and looked ten years younger instantly. “Never be first and never be last and all that. Coppers have different rules. We rush in where angels fear to tread. You go on and take your break. Don’t worry about us.”

.

.

So John made his plans and also arranged for provisions, secured the trenches and gathered the troops. He had separate conversations with Mrs Hudson, Molly, and Mycroft, all of whom were silent for a few beats at the news that Sherlock was going to be essentially blind and indoors for a week or so and that Greg had volunteered to stay and look after him.

They almost felt like standing to attention and saluting the man for his courage.

They all offered to drop by and support Greg whenever they could. Except Mycroft.

He was also silent for a beat and finally said calmly “I suppose you want to suggest that I should stay away in order to maintain the peace?”

John sometimes wondered if the elder Holmes could actually read minds so he just let out a sigh.

“Don’t worry Dr Watson.” Mycroft had said in reply. “You are leaving him in good hands”.

_The best of hands in fact,_ Mycroft thought to himself, recollecting. He wondered if Greg really remembered what this care would involve besides the obvious medical aspects.

As they say, there are none so blind……


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is bored. Greg takes care of him. They discuss The Beauty and the Beast.

That first evening after John left, Sherlock sat on the sofa for all of three minutes before shouting ‘BORED’ and throwing the cushions around. Greg picked up one cushion and threw it back at him, being extremely careful about making sure it went nowhere near his face.

Then he looked at him and said “Sherlock, tell me what I can do to help you. Should I read to you or switch on the radio or do you want to play the violin?”

The genius just scowled and refused to answer. Greg gave a small sigh. He could really understand his frustration and even if he had brought it upon himself ( _idiot!_ ) he needed to help him through it.

So he sat on the sofa close enough to touch him, and nudged him with his elbow.

“I know this is difficult and painful for you Sunshine, but I have taken time off from the Yard and I am going to be here to help you. Ok? But you need to tell me what you want. After all I am not the genius. You are. Remember?” and he gave a wry grin.

Sherlock huffed and his fingers started twitching. “I am angry” he said.

Greg raised his eyebrows in surprise. Sherlock admitting to even this feeling was something very new.

“I am annoyed and frustrated and restless and ……..BORED.”

“Ok, ok relax,” said Greg, gently putting his hand on Sherlock’s arm, remembering that he didn’t really like being touched by anyone.

But Greg had always been the exception. _There had been no choice really given that he had had to pull him up from dirty floors, lift him into cars and practically carry him into his flat sometimes, hold him up while he threw up, hold him down while he shivered, hold his face and help him eat and drink something, hold his hands while he tossed around in fevered sleep._

_Sigh._

“Don’t focus on the negative. What do we do to change it? Look….let’s have an early dinner. There is pasta and pudding sent by Mrs. Hudson. And we can chat while we eat.”

“I am not hungry” Sherlock said promptly. “And anyway, how will I eat? I can’t see.”

“Hmm, I thought geniuses could manage all kinds of things but maybe for today let me feed you.” He said with a smile.

And so they ended up with Sherlock at the table, a napkin tied around his neck like a bib and Greg sitting in front, feeding him pasta by the forkful. After he fed him the first bite Greg had a wicked grin on his face.

“I feel as though I ought to read you a bedtime tale to go with this. Once upon a time, in a land far, far away…….”

He thought Sherlock would snort and dismiss him but to his surprise the younger man nodded and said “Sure, go ahead. I find fairy tales to be a fascinating collection of the dark minds of our forefathers. And mothers too I guess. Do you know that many of the so called nursery rhymes were actually political ditties?”

And so they started the ritual of Greg telling him a fairy tale during dinner as he was being fed.

.

.

That first night he told him about Beauty and the Beast.

“Once upon a time there was a rich merchant who had three daughters. The youngest one called Belle was beautiful and kind. She also loved reading books and was thoughtful and wise.”

He went on to recount how her father got caught by the Beast and would release him in exchange for Beauty.

“Why didn’t they call her Brainy? Typical sexist stereotypes.” Sherlock said.

“Yeah, true. Never thought of that really.” Greg realized with a start. “Never pegged you for a feminist though.”

“Have you ever known me to discriminate against anyone? On any basis? Except stupidity?” Sherlock said, sounding rather offended.

Greg said wryly. “Yeah. That is totally true. Quite the Mother Teresa aren’t you.”

Sherlock scowled at him. Greg grinned.

“So anyway…..open your mouth……. The Beast is actually a Prince who has been cursed and is lonely and depressed because he is all alone in his castle.” He stopped.

_Ok. That cut too close to the bone. No point dwelling on that. Fairy tales worked because they were generic. People had sad, difficult and often cursed lives and the stories provided escapist fantasies that there was someone out there who would find you special enough to love you and free you from that misery and you would live happily ever after. No point taking it personally. And truly foolish to believe it can happen in real life….._

“Lestrade?” Sherlock asked, when he was quiet too long.

“Yeah, yeah, right here.” And Greg fed him one more spoon and continued. “Beauty was initially quite scared of him but slowly realized that despite his rough manners and scary appearance he was actually very kind and gentle and she came to be very fond of him. She eventually agreed to marry him and found that she had saved his life and he was transformed back into the handsome Prince he had been” He paused.” So what is your interpretation of that, genius?”

“Um, besides Stockholm syndrome? Moral of the story being about inner beauty and the power of love? And the symbolism of the rose? And a rotten way of treating an intelligent woman?” Sherlock said.

So in all this back and forth finally dinner was done. Greg cleared the table and left the dishes for later.

.

.

As they sat on the sofa and Greg was feeding him the pudding, Sherlock asked “How come you are a fan of fairy tales?”

“Oh I loved reading as a kid. Still do, when I have the time. And I have two nieces you know. Probably read these and seen the Disney movies with them a hundred times. The question is how come _you_ know them so well?”

“Mycroft.” Sherlock said promptly. “He would read them to me. The original darker versions of course. Those and Greek mythology. Usually to drill some moral lesson into me or terrify me about the consequences of my behaviour.”

“Hmm. Didn’t really work too well did it?” Greg said. “You are probably the one the Princesses had to be warned about in these tales.”

“Really, Lestrade?” Sherlock’s lifted his eyebrows and spoke in a mocking tone. “Fancy yourself as Beauty now do you and me the Beast?”

“Git.” Greg said. “Eat your own pudding!” and he dumped the bowl in Sherlock’s hands, while the younger man laughed.

 _What a lovely sound_ thought Greg. _I really don’t hear it often enough._

Something warm stirred in his heart. He wanted Sherlock to laugh more often. He wanted to see him calm and relaxed and happy. He felt glad that he was getting to spend time with Sherlock which didn’t involve drugs, dead bodies, fleeing murderers, difficult interrogations and crime scenes.

Then he promptly felt guilty because they were able to do this just now due to a serious injury Sherlock had sustained.

So he took the bowl back and fed him again.

Till they were both content.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do drop a line to let me know if you are enjoying this story :) it's always lovely to read comments!!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Greg are getting to know each other a bit more. Mrs. Hudson always sees things before anyone else realizes them!

That first night when Greg stayed over he slept on the sofa with the door to Sherlock’s room kept open. It didn’t make sense to use John’s room where he wouldn’t hear Sherlock if he needed him.

Surprisingly Sherlock had decided to go to sleep early thanks to the combination of having had a full meal and also the painkillers he had to take for his eyes. When Sherlock realized where Greg was planning to sleep he asked him to move into his room with him but Greg refused.

“It’s just practical Lestrade.” Sherlock said. “You are going to be here for a week. Don’t be tedious.”

“Nah, its ok Sherlock. I might move in my sleep and hurt your eyes. The sofa is fine. And I am right here. Don’t worry.”

.

.

In the morning the next day Sherlock found his way to the bathroom to use the toilet and brush his teeth. Then he refused any help getting ready until he tried to put his hand through the T- shirt sleeve too fast, knocked his hand against the cupboard mirror and almost broke both. Greg came running in at the sound and checked out his hand for him. Luckily there was no damage.

Sherlock had a thunderous scowl on his face. He was just beginning to realize how many things he would need to be helped with.

Before he could throw a temper tantrum Greg said calmly “One day at a time Sunshine. I am making scrambled eggs and toast for breakfast. Sit right here.”

And he guided him to the chair and tied the napkin around his neck again and then fed him while also reading the latest headlines.

“Listen to this Sherlock: An embryo that was a cross between a human and a cow survived a third straight day after being fertilized at Newcastle University. A director for the laboratories said that the "99 per cent human" embryo could improve research within the field of human diseases. Wow. What do you say to that?!”

‘Oh great.’ said Sherlock in disgust. ‘Now we are going to be populated with multi-species cross breed idiots.’

Greg chuckled. He fed him one more spoon of egg and then a bite of the toast.

Then he said, “Hey, wait, here is some good news! Levi Bellfield-- remember that guy we arrested last year? The courts have found him guilty of murdering two women in London and he has received a life sentence with a recommendation that he should never be released. Yes!” and he punched the table with his fist, causing Sherlock to jump in the air.

“Lestrade!!” He said in extreme annoyance. “Do try to remember that I cannot see visual cues and stop slamming your beastly limbs onto the furniture without warning!”

“Sorry, sorry” Greg said sheepishly. “It’s just that….you know how those we arrest sometimes get away with it. I was just really happy to know that this guy isn’t going to walk the streets again.”

“It really matters to you –this justice business-- doesn’t it?” Sherlock said in a curious tone.

“Of course it does! What do you mean?? Doesn’t it matter to you?”

“I suppose so.” Sherlock said thoughtfully. “In a peripheral way. But…..that’s not the main reason why I do it.”

“Then why _do_ you do it?” Greg asked, wondering as always at exactly what went on inside this genius’s brain. He fed him some more scrambled egg as soon as he opened his mouth.

_Umpf_ grunted Sherlock, chewing. “How can you ask me a question and then put food in my mouth right away?!”

“Sorry, sorry!” Greg said again, with a grimace. “Still getting a handle on this whole seeing- eye business.” Greg wiped at the corner of Sherlock’s mouth with a napkin and then held up the tea cup to his lips.

Sherlock was instinctively going to scoff at him and tell him that surely even without being able to see he could manage to drink tea once the cup was in his hands. But somehow,( and he was unable to understand why), somehow he was enjoying being fed like this by Greg, so he bit down his words and drank the tea when the cup was pressed to his lips.

After Sherlock had finished the tea Greg said “Ok, all done. Now tell me.”

“I think I do it to solve the puzzles.” Sherlock said with a shrug.

“Well……Ok” Greg replied, thinking he already knew that really.

_But did Sherlock really not care beyond the puzzles?_ He didn’t think so. He had seen how concerned Sherlock was when children were involved. He had seen him give chase without any thought for his own safety when a perpetrator was escaping. _That wasn’t just about solving the puzzle_. It was also about holding the guilty accountable. Eventually it was about justice and doing what was right.

But either Sherlock didn’t realize it or didn’t want to accept it. Greg was nothing if not understanding and patient and inclined to choose his battles wisely, so he didn’t argue or belabor the point and just said “Breakfast is all done now. Do you want to listen to Radio 4 while I take a shower?”

Sherlock declined and wanted to try playing the violin instead. Greg found the violin case and handed the instrument to Sherlock and guided him to stand by the window, curtains drawn to avoid the sunlight on his injured eyes.

Sherlock held the violin the way he always did, like it was an extension of himself, placed it under his chin, lifted the bow and started playing.

Greg took a quick shower and then relaxed on John’s chair, listening to the music brought forth by the nimble fingers of the genius. He was enjoying the pleasure of being able to gaze upon Sherlock’s face without any encumbrance since no one could see him do so.

_Except possibly Mycroft and his surveillance_ he realized immediately, narrowing his eyes, looking around….. _Ah well. That surveillance and paranoia on Mycroft’s part had saved Sherlock’s life on more than one occasion. So he was not about to complain._

Sherlock finished playing and just then Mrs. Hudson knocked at the door.

“Hoohoo! Hope you boys are decent.”

Greg had to laugh at that and Sherlock grunted. Greg did however wonder fleetingly if she asked that _because Sherlock and John sometimes were not_ …..but he decided to ignore that thought.

Mrs. Hudson came in and asked Sherlock how he was. She fluttered about and expressed sympathies for her ‘poor boy’ and even managed to pat him since he could not see her hand moving and couldn’t shy away from it.

“Tell me anything you want me to cook for you Sherlock. I have already kept a batch of scones to bake for today.”

Greg cautioned her, only half joking. “You do remember that he did this to himself?! If you give him so much sympathy how will he learn his lesson?!” he said, sounding gruff.

“Oh come on you!” Mrs. Hudson said, looking at him fondly.

She had always liked this handsome grey haired Detective Inspector. _Such a wonderful man. Always so polite and well mannered_. _He was a bit like a shock absorber for Sherlock_. She had noticed how the younger man seemed to instinctively relax in his presence, as though he knew he was safe now.

“You are the one who has taken leave to stay here and look after him. You are cooking for him and I saw you feeding him dinner when I came up last evening to ask if you wanted anything. You were telling him fairy tales Inspector! Fairy tales! So, which one of us is pampering him really?!” She stood with her hands on her hips.

Greg blushed and was utterly grateful that Sherlock couldn’t see him. “Well you know John had prior plans and ….….”

Mrs. Hudson just gave him a knowing look but said no more on the topic and left after reminding Sherlock to let her know if he wanted anything specific to eat.

.

.

Sherlock had listened to their exchange and not made any comment. But Greg knew that he eventually would. Before he could say anything though, Greg said, “So Sherlock, how should we plan the day? I know you are not used to any routine but I am a creature of habit and discipline, so my brain cannot manage a totally un-structured day!”

“Aren’t you supposed to be _on leave_ Lestrade?” Sherlock drawled.

“Yeah well,” Greg sighed. “It’s been so long since I had a holiday, it just feels odd to me to not have a plan. Also, I don’t want you to be bored any more than I can help. So, what do you suggest we do? You can’t go out during daylight so we can plan for a walk in the evening. But how do you want to spend the rest of the day? It’s up to you.”

There was a pause. Then “Do you really intend to _pamper_ me Lestrade?” Sherlock asked, with a very serious face.

_The git_ thought Greg. He knew Sherlock would not let go of it. He would tease it like a dog with a bone…..Except that his tone did not sound as if he was teasing him. It sounded like he was puzzled. Genuinely puzzled that someone would want to pamper him. It made Greg want to hug him and tell him he was precious and yes , he was infuriating and annoying but yes , he did deserve to be pampered!

“Don’t get your hopes up Sherlock, I am not going to murder anyone for you.” Greg snorted, not wanting to let on how Mrs. Hudson’s words had made him feel.

He had had a surprising realization that he really would look forward to pampering Sherlock. Making him feel good about himself, relaxed, happy. He hadn’t realized till she said it, exactly how deeply he wanted to see Sherlock _happy_. Not in the morbid way that he would often be pleased at complicated murder scenes. But to see him happy in a _contended_ way. At peace somehow.

He had no idea where that had come from suddenly. _Maybe it had always been there_. All the distress he used to feel when he saw Sherlock during his addict days, had transitioned to go beyond not wanting to see him in pain and to actually seeing him happy.

No point saying any of this to the man of course, unless he wanted to be torn to shreds by his acid words. _Lestrade, sentiment is a sign of weakness blah blah blah._

Before either of them could say anything else the bell rang. It was one of Mycroft’s minions apparently, bearing gifts. Greg thanked the man and took the fairly large packet from him.

“What dreadful thing has Mycroft chosen to unleash on me this time?” Sherlock said when Greg told him who had come.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock remembers that he had gone back to Lestrade again and again because he had made him feel safe. Cared for. Even protected.

Greg unpacked the parcel and out tumbled some boxes, each with a number on it.

“Looks like he has sent you some get- well- soon presents! “ Greg said with a grin because he knew that Sherlock was going to be secretly pleased but get even more annoyed because he couldn’t show it.

The first box contained a book in Braille.

“You know how to read Braille?” Greg asked in mild surprise.

“Not yet.” said Sherlock with his usual cocky confidence.

The book did contain a Braille to English glossary at the back so Greg sat and read out the alphabet and then some basic words while Sherlock traced the corresponding words in Braille.

By noon, Sherlock could read Braille.

He ran his fingers over the cover of the book Mycroft had sent and let out a snort.

Greg looked up. “What happened?” He asked. “What’s so funny?”

“Politically Correct Bedtime Tales.” Sherlock told him.

Greg didn’t know what to make of it. _Was Mycroft reminding them he could see them or was he cautioning him about being correct …..or was he encouraging what he was seeing?! Who knew with Mycroft and his brain as big as the planet...._

“Well Sherlock, now that you have learnt an entire new language before noon, like the Red Queen and her six impossible things before breakfast, let me figure out lunch. Happy reading!” Greg said and got up from the sofa.

He went to the kitchen to figure out what they had and what they needed and came to a swift conclusion that while John had stocked up on lots of cans and dry food, in terms of fresh vegetables and groceries what they had was _nothing_ and what they needed was a _takeaway_.

Sherlock said he wasn’t hungry so Greg didn’t argue but ordered from the Indian restaurant he knew they both liked. When the lamb curry, chicken tikka masala and naan arrived in half an hour, somehow Sherlock ate everything that Greg fed him. And Greg fed him a little bit of everything, feeling extremely pleased with himself at having got two full meals into the fussy genius.

.

.

After lunch Sherlock read the book for an hour or so and then got bored and asked Greg for the 2nd box from Mycroft’s gift. Greg thought about it. Even if Sherlock finished all the gifts within a day he was quite sure that Mycroft would keep sending more since he knew how much the older Holmes cared for (and even indulged) his brother, despite all outward behaviour to the contrary.

But maybe there was something more that could be done instead of giving in. He always gave in to Sherlock at the crime scenes but this was different. At least he could try it and see where it goes. He had never been about taking the easy path anyway.

So he took a deep breath and suggested. “Sherlock, why don’t you try a technique of meditation to keep yourself occupied? Kind of like your Mind Palace but something different, more calming.”

To his surprise Sherlock said “Which one are you suggesting? Mindfulness, Chakra, Vipassana or Zen?”

Greg’s eyebrows shot up. “You are kidding me right? You don’t strike me as someone who has ever meditated!”

“I have never murdered anyone either Lestrade.” Sherlock said dryly. ”Yet. But I still know what it is and how it is done.”

“Fair point.” Greg laughed. “I started doing some mindfulness meditation when…..”He paused. He didn’t want to make this about him. And he certainly did not want to talk about his divorce with Sherlock.

Even though, now that he thought about it, it was Sherlock who had pointed out his wife’s affairs more than once and forced him to confront what he suspected but was trying to avoid.

“I started doing it a few months ago.” Greg continued. “It seemed to help somewhat.”

Sherlock was looking at him with his head tilted and Greg could see how his entire body became alert and went into ‘deduction mode.’ If his eyes had not been bandaged right now, Greg would have been extremely uncomfortable. He wondered what Sherlock was going to ask him now.

Sherlock surprised him again by ignoring the divorce and asking instead. “What technique do you favour? How long do you do it at a time?”

“Well, I started off with some chanting but as I got used to it I found it easier to just go into the meditative space even in silence. It just kind of helps to step back from the intensity of our daily interactions. Put a distance between the mind and all the drama.”

“Watch out or you may end up joining a cult” Sherlock said, a very faint smile lurking at the corner of his lips.

Greg cleared his throat and asked in mock seriousness. “You mean……I could become part of a group in which everyone believes in the same thing and has a charismatic leader who turns up dramatically once in a while and they have to blindly worship and follow orders from without any questions?”

Sherlock took half a second to get the joke. “Very amusing Lestrade.” He said and he tilted his head to catch the sound of laughter from the other man.

 _I don’t hear that sound often enough_ Sherlock suddenly realized. _In fact…. …when was the last time he heard it?_

Having an eidetic memory is helpful and it supplies him with the date and occasion.

6th October 2006. The day he returned from rehab and met the D.I outside Scotland Yard, where he was sneaking a smoke.

“Oh Sherlock!” Lestrade had gasped and then laughed. It conveyed relief and ….joy? He had been so pleased to see Sherlock back and even more pleased to see him clean and healthy. He had startled Sherlock by hugging him.

When he had let go, Sherlock had just looked at him and said “Those things will kill you, you know.” And then plucked the cigarette out of his fingers and taken a deep drag himself.

“I will quit.” Lestrade had said, quietly but firmly, when he was done. He had crushed the remaining stub of the cigarette beneath his heels and they had crossed the road to the pharmacy and picked up a box of nicotine patches. For both of them.

Sherlock wondered today why Lestrade had done that. He had quit smoking for _him?_ Had Lestrade done it to show solidarity because he had stayed clean and completed rehab? _Why had he not realized this earlier?_

_._

_._

“Hey?” Greg was calling. “Did you go off into some transcendental state there??”

“No. Just thinking.” said Sherlock. “Some of us like to do that you know.”

Greg said, “Just for that I am going to tell you a joke. What did the police officer say when he arrested a meditation cult leader?”

Sherlock groaned and must have rolled his eyes inside the bandage.

“You have the right to remain silent.” And Greg laughed. Then he looked at Sherlock’s face and found the expression of disgust so funny that he laughed harder and Sherlock found his mouth twitching because this kind of a laughing fit was quite contagious. He had to try really, really hard to suppress the giggles bubbling up and keep a straight face. Or in fact a disapproving face at this utterly juvenile joke.

He took a deep breath and said with as much dignity as he could muster, “Lestrade, if you have quite finished distracting me with your mumbo jumbo and childish jokes, can we open the 2nd present from Mycroft?”

“Nah. I don’t think so Sunshine.” Greg said, suddenly feeling lighter than he had in days. _Laughter really is the best medicine_ he thought _._ “It’s time for your eye drops and then I am going to make us some tea.”

Greg made Sherlock sit in the chair and turned his face away from the ambient light coming through the windows and gently opened the bandages. He quickly put the drops in each eye, wiped off the excess with a tissue. Sherlock’s vision was still blurry and all he saw was some light and then it was all even more blurry with the drops and he blinked and blinked and tried to move his head but Greg had him firmly by the chin and reapplied the bandages.

“There, there,” Greg said. “All done now.”

Sherlock was scowling away and his lips were turned down and he looked exactly like a toddler in a sulk. Greg he had this irrational urge to kiss him……. on his forehead and ‘make it all better.”

_Where the hell had that come from?!_

He and Laura had not wanted kids right away when they first go married. And then as the years passed and they both got busy with their professions, (Greg much more than her), it had not made much sense to consider it as an option. Now of course, it was unlikely that he would have children of his own.

Nearly 40, divorced, ‘married to his work’ in fact.

And babysitting geniuses. Through a series of unfortunate events -- ranging from drug highs, drug lows, overdosing, injuries while chasing murder suspects, and now this.

Some part of his brain faintly chided him. _You don’t think of Sherlock in a paternal way exactly do you?_

He wondered if that was true. He usually tried not to think of him at all beyond work hours.

It had been different earlier. When the work wasn’t what they did together and Sherlock would turn up at his flat at all hours. Sometimes high, sometimes crashing. Sometimes just wanting soup and a shower. But always brilliant and fascinating and attractive.

In the way that a flame is attractive to a moth.

Greg had found himself in a holding pattern around him.

Unable to keep him close, unable to send him away.

When Sherlock became a Consulting Detective that relationship changed overnight, as though he had wanted to delete and close the files on the past and re-invent himself without any baggage. Greg had been so pleased that Sherlock was no longer in constant danger that it never even occurred to him that he could have had any role in negotiating for anything else……

.

.

Someone was pulling at his sleeves. “Lestrade?! Are you ok? Are you doing some kind of standing up meditation? Do you want to let go of my face now?” Sherlock asked wryly.

“Hmm? Yes yes, just ….”he bit his tongue before he could say ‘just thinking’ and get another sarcastic comment. “Ok we are done here. Will you manage to stay out of trouble for an hour while I pop over to the Tesco’s and get some groceries? I eat out all the time anyway. While I am on leave I might as well cook and eat healthy stuff.”

Sherlock had an odd expression on his face, like a naughty boy planning mischief.

“Sherlock.” Greg said in a warning tone. “You have to promise to be good or I will have to ask Mrs. Hudson to sit here while I am away. I am sure she would love to have a chat.”

Sherlock promptly said “No! I promise. Please!”

Greg laughed at the genuine terror in his voice.

 _Oh that pleasant sound again_. Sherlock thought. _I could get used to it._

“Ok, I will be back in an hour. Anything specific you want?”

Sherlock shook his head. “Just switch on Radio 4 and keep my violin next to me.”

By the time Greg got back it was 5 pm and he seemed pleased with his purchases. He said the weather was lovely outside and maybe they could go for a short walk after he started on some dinner preparations.

.

.

Sherlock sat on a chair in the kitchen door, hugging himself around the knees as he sat with his legs folded up. Greg was telling him what he had bought and what he was planning to cook. This would have been insufferably dull with anyone else but somehow listening to Greg’s warm voice and cadences and the occasional smile that he could hear made him feel …..he didn’t know how it made him feel.

 _Rooted?_ _At home?_

That was absurd, he told himself. _He was already home! This was where he lived for heaven’s sake. And he was hardly a nomad that he should feel rooted now._

“So Sherlock?”Lestrade was asking something. “Would you like that?”

“Like what?” he asked, having lost track of the conversation entirely.

He could hear Lestrade cluck in exasperation. “Never mind. I will let you guess later since you seem to have been in a trance this whole time that I was telling you why it’s my favourite recipe!”

And suddenly Sherlock wanted to know why. He realized he barely knew Lestrade beyond what had been obvious to him during all those years when he had looked after him and rescued him and …..made him feel safe.

That is what he had felt, he realized, with a slow recognition. He remembered sitting in Lestrade’s kitchen all those years ago, watching him cook, knowing he was cooking for him. It made him feel safe.

Cared for. Anchored.

He had indeed been a nomad at that time. Not just his physical residence and his ‘transport’ but even his gypsy heart.

_Never still. Never content._

But he had gone back to Lestrade again and again because he had made him feel safe. Cared for. Even protected.

He had been his refuge during troubled times. But he had never bothered to get to know the D.I better, beyond what he could deduce. What was his favourite food, what did he do in his free time ( when he wasn’t rescuing drug addicts of course) , where did he go on holiday, what did he like to read……Perhaps one was supposed to know such things about one’s friends……

But was Lestrade his friend? He was not sure. Well if not then what was he?

He found himself unable to decide on a name for the relationship they had………he was his friend in some ways maybe but he was also perhaps his guardian……….and his professional mentor…….Where would he be now without The Work? He shuddered involuntarily at the thought.

Lestrade had given him that and more. He had been his safe space and his caring was un-conditional.

Sherlock went through his Mind Palace and saw Lestrade standing in the background of the entire time of his years in London, looking grim and worried, hair greying year on year. But he was there. A constant. Like the North Star.

He was like a rock in the crashing waves of Sherlock’s life. A cave in which to shelter from the storm outside.

Was there really a name for someone like that?

.

.

While his thoughts had been moving at the speed of light, zipping along through the ether, something was simmering on the stove.

He sniffed. He could smell onions, carrots, tomatoes…….and was that cabbage? And suddenly all the individual smells converged into the memory of the hot soup from those days. The only thing he could keep down sometimes. The days when couldn’t bear to eat any solids.

This is what he would drink.

It all came back to him in a flood of memories.

The raw intensity of those days, the vulnerability, the haze and uncertainty. The swathes of missing time. The craving. The sheer need and desperation.

Cutting through all that was the bright certainty of knowing that whenever he went to Lestrade, or whenever the D.I found him, there would be no recrimination, no punishment.

Only care and comfort.

“Minestrone!” He exclaimed. “You used to make this for me when….” and he trailed off but he could hear Lestrade humming with pleasure at his excitement and his deduction.

 _Is that why it was Lestrade’s favourite soup?_ Sherlock wondered. _Because it was his favourite?_

“Ok, genius, while that is simmering and the chicken is marinating let’s get you changed and we can go for a short walk and then come back and eat. Build you an appetite and get you some fresh air.”

Sherlock let Greg guide him to his bedroom and take out some clothes for him.

“Don’t touch my socks” he growled and Greg rolled his eyes at that.

When they were both ready, he led him down the stairs and they briefly said hello and bye to Mrs. Hudson.

She agreed to keep an eye on the soup and switch it off in five minutes and said she would also keep the scones for them to have for breakfast the next day.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg to the rescue. Sherlock wonders anew how he can care so much.

They took a short walk to the small garden in the nearby square and sat on a bench.

Greg’s phone buzzed. It was a message from John.    {Any survivors?!}

Greg smiled and wrote back.    {Surprisingly both. Enjoy Aberdeen! GL}

“That was John.” he told Sherlock as he slipped his phone back in his pocket.

Sherlock was astonished to realize that he hadn’t thought of John even once all day.

_That was unusual._

_._

_._

They sat there quietly for almost five minutes before Sherlock got restless. So Greg asked him to deduce how many people were in the garden and who they were. And to deduce who was walking past just from the sound of their footsteps.

While Greg was looking around for someone interesting to quiz Sherlock on, he noticed something that made his copper’s sixth sense tingle.

A young girl, possibly Bangladeshi, was sitting on one of the benches across them to their right, with a man, also from the same ethnicity but much older than her and she didn’t look happy at all. She looked terrified and angry and the man seemed to be holding her arm rather too strongly.

_Maybe he was her father_ thought Greg. _But maybe she needed help even if he was her father._

Greg immediately interrupted Sherlock who was just explaining why the person who walked past was possibly depressed. He put his hand on his arm to stop him and said “Just wait Sherlock. Sit here a minute.”

He walked over and gave a bland smile to the girl and the man. He turned to the girl and asked her “Is everything alright?”

In an instant he realized he had done the right thing because her expression changed from fear to pleading as she gave a barely perceptible nod that seemed to say ‘yes’ but her eyes were asking for help.

Before Greg could say anything further however the man let go of her arm and basically ran away. Greg gave chase till the garden gate but the man had had a good lead on him. It was getting dark and anyway he couldn’t chase after him leaving Sherlock and this girl behind.

So he let him run away, figuring out that this girl probably knew who he was. He called Sally and explained what had happened and asked her to arrange for a woman PC from the nearest beat and also to alert the social services.

Greg walked back to where the girl was still sitting, alert and anxious, clutching her rucksack.

“Do you speak English?” he asked her gently. She nodded.

“What is your name?”

“Rashida.” she said, and he realized from her accent that she must have been brought up here in London.

He told her that he was a policeman but he was on leave and asked if she would cross to the other side where his friend was waiting. He showed her his ID and said he had called for someone who would take care of her. She nodded and agreed, large intelligent eyes looking at him.

He brought her over to the bench where Sherlock was sitting, almost rocking with impatience because he had realized that something had happened but not exactly what and he couldn’t do anything about it.

“Sherlock”, Greg said quickly as soon as they came close. “Rashida is going to sit next to you while we wait for a PC to come over.”

Sherlock turned to look towards her and Greg saw her eyes widen when she saw his bandages.

“What happened to you?” She asked with the direct honesty of the young.

Sherlock realized it was a young girl and pulled a face for her sake. “I was experimenting with some chemicals and hurt my eyes.”

“Didn’t your science teacher teach you to use protection?!” She asked, astonished.

Greg had to laugh at Sherlock’s expression. _What a wise girl._

 “He doesn’t listen to anyone.” he told Rashida. “But he is a genius, so we let him get away with it most of the time.”

“Are you his carer?” Rashida asked.

Now it was Sherlock’s turn to laugh. _What a smart girl._

He told her, “He is everyone’s carer you know. Not just because he is a policeman. He just cares. He can’t bear to see people in trouble. He believes in justice and so he keeps saving people.” He paused. Then he couldn’t resist. “He seems to have saved you from something?”

“Yes,” said Rashida, feeling safe enough now to share. “That man is my father’s older brother and he…they are trying to force me to marry my cousin who lives back in Bangladesh. I don’t want to go so I tried to run away and he was threatening me.”

Just then a woman stopped in front of them and spoke to Rashida directly, (in a strong Kenyan accent Sherlock noted). She was wearing running shoes and was slightly out of breath but spoke firmly “Are you ok my girl?”

“Yes.” Rashida nodded.

Greg realized immediately what she must have thought of the whole scene with the other man running away and him bringing the girl over to their bench.

He took out his badge and showed her. “Thank you for checking Ma’am” he said, “I am a Detective Inspector with the Scotland Yard.”

“Oh that’s alright then!” said the woman. “I was worried for a minute there that I was going to have to use my forgotten Taikwondo skills to rescue the girl.” She laughed and extended her hand. “Akiya Mwanga, Professor of Linguistics at SOAS.”

“Pleasure to meet you Ma’am!” said Greg with a smile. “Gregory Lestrade. We are always grateful for alert citizens like you!”

She waved goodbye and left.

The young PC arrived just then and introduced herself to Greg. He explained what had happened and handed the girl over to her custody. He also gave Rashida his personal mobile number and told her to call if she needed anything. He reassured her that she was going to be safe and taken care of.

Once she had left he helped Sherlock to his feet and they walked home in silence.

.

.

Greg was wondering what would have happened to the girl if they had not happened to be there at that time. He pondered about how London was paradoxically one of the safest and the most dangerous places to be, depending on where one fit in the food chain. If Sherlock’s hadn’t injured himself and if he hadn’t taken leave and if he hadn’t suggested the walk………that girl’s life may have turned out to be so very different.

So many ‘if’s’. How little control one really had on one’s life…….

Meanwhile Sherlock was thinking about how Lestrade managed to care so much all the time and still function! How he could be friendly to just about anyone. _He tolerated Anderson for heaven’s sake._ He probably knew the waiters and owners of his local café and the check- out lady at the Tesco and the newspaper vendor outside the Tube stations and so many others……..not just as informants, but as people.

He himself had a fairly large number of informants among the homeless and he did give them money and even bought them coffee and food sometimes but he didn’t really care about them beyond their usefulness.

He wondered what it must feel like. To care that much.

He wondered if Lestrade was also thinking of the Professor they had just met. She had sounded very pleased to meet him. _Women always did find him attractive. He exudes that calm confidence and competence._

Sherlock knew that although he often called him an idiot, he was anything but. Lestrade was one of Scotland Yard’s finest ……….and maybe other people were not as un-observant as he imagined. _Of course, John would probably have had her phone number before she left_ he thought with a smirk.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soup and shared memories in search of lost time

.

They had reached the flat by then and when Greg unlocked the door they could smell the lovely soup. Greg helped Sherlock up the stairs and then guided him to the sofa. He himself went to the kitchen and kept the chicken to grill in the oven and served them both the soup.

Then he got Sherlock over to the table, tied the napkin for him and started to feed him.

“You alright Sherlock?” he asked after five minutes when the silence went on for rather a long time.

“What does it feel like?” Sherlock asked him in response.

“What does what feel like?”

“Caring.”

Greg raised his eyebrows. “It’s not like you don’t know.”

“Mycroft always says caring is not an advantage. But you seem to do it all the time.”

“Well you can’t exactly switch it off like a tap”. Greg replied, smiling. Then he blew on the spoon to cool the soup and fed Sherlock. “And stop believing that you don’t care. I am sure Mycroft has his own reasons for telling you what he does. But I think that maybe you care too much but you don’t know how to handle it.”

He seemed to hesitate and then decide to plunge ahead. “I know we have never talked about it, but someone as brilliant as you doing drugs? Never made sense to me. You were trying to escape something maybe? Do you know the traits of an empath? They get overwhelmed by crowded places and loud noises overwhelm and crave time alone. Get bored easily. They can tell when people are lying. And when people get angry and shout, it makes empaths feel physically unwell.” He paused. “I have always felt that you stay aloof and ‘uncaring’ for self-preservation.”

Sherlock scoffed. “What are you? A psychologist? Are we going to do a personality quiz out of a magazine now? Do you prefer being right over being happy? Would you rather talk to people or read a book?”

“Well, I think we both know your answer to those questions! And anyway I did major in psychology you know. Surely you knew that or deduced that Mr. Genius. Wait now, let me get the main course.”

“I want more soup first.” Sherlock demanded.

“Sure.” Greg said, a pleased grin on his face. This was the closest he was going to get to a compliment from Sherlock on his soup. He gave out a grunt as he got up. His back had become a bit stiff from sleeping on the sofa and the short chase that evening hadn’t exactly helped.

“You are sleeping on the bed tonight.” Sherlock said promptly. “Get pillows from John’s bedroom if you want to keep them between us. I may not even fall asleep anyway.”  
Greg didn’t argue.

As he fed him the chicken Sherlock asked for his fairy tale. Greg looked over at him, with his pale snow white skin, ebony black curls and ruby red lips.  
(Jesus, what is wrong with you Greg he thought to himself.)

He decided to tell him about Snow White.

Sherlock kept interrupting with explanations of how the white colour was symbolic of virginal purity and the apple had probably the same significance as the one in the Garden of Eden.

When Greg spoke about the dwarves, Sherlock gave a half smile. “You mean vertically challenged persons?”

“Oh you are going to be politically correct now are you? Of course. The book Mycroft sent you” Greg realized, shaking his head.

They discussed the absent father figure, the seven dwarves representing the seven sins, the Prince who kisses Snow White and wakes her up from her coma and Greg really wondered again what parents were thinking when they told these stories to children at bedtime!

Mycroft was watching and wondering what Gregory was thinking. He had always respected Gregory for the care and loyalty he had shown to Sherlock. Of course no one could match the Holmes brothers in brainpower but he always knew that the D.I was no goldfish. Turns out that he may even have underestimated him just a tiny bit.  
Hadn’t he just told Sherlock _“I am sure Mycroft has his own reasons for telling you what he does. But I think that maybe you care too much but you don’t know how to handle it_.”

Hmm. Sherlock had deflected that as expected but nevertheless, it was Point 1 to Silver Fox.  
.  
.  
After dinner Greg cleaned up, put the eye drops for Sherlock and went upstairs to John’s room to get the pillows. He had never seen John’s bedroom before and as he stepped in it he was curious. The room was spartan and clean, but there were truly a very large number of pillows there! He wondered whatever for.

  
_Did John and Sherlock use them………..oh how does it matter_ , he thought.

He picked up four of them and went back down. He placed them on the bed down the middle, then changed into his pajamas and lay down.

“I feel like a kid again, playing castles and kings in a pillow fort!” He said, grinning. “Did you and Mycroft ever…….”he trailed off, wondering even as he asked whether Mycroft had ever been a kid in that sense.

Sherlock was half reclined on his side of the bed, hands behind his head and he turned to look in Greg’s direction. “Yes we were kids too Lestrade.” He drawled. “Even Mycroft. But Kings and Queens were too boring. I wanted to be a pirate, so that’s what we used to play.”

“Can’t imagine Mycroft as a kid, let alone playing pirates!” Greg said in wonder.

“Oh he always wanted to read in the library. He used to play only for my sake.” Sherlock said, as though speaking to himself. Remembering. “When he went away to university ………..”and he stopped.

Greg waited for a minute but it didn’t seem as though Sherlock was going to share any more. Clearly something had happened when Mycroft left and Sherlock had still not dealt with it fully.

“Well, goodnight Sherlock. Try to get some sleep.”  
.  
.  
Mycroft watched them both go into the bedroom and he waited for a while but no one came out. He didn’t have cameras inside the bedroom. After all, he was doing this for surveillance and safety ( he liked to tell himself…….) and not voyeurism, but today he felt a tiny bit of curiosity.

_Hmm…. Looks like it was Point 2 to the Silver Fox._  
.  
.  
Sherlock stayed awake for a long while afterwards, trying to remember when was the last time he had shared a room, let alone a bed, with anyone.

Probably when he was 10 and used to still go into Mycroft’s bedroom when he had a nightmare, or the inside of his head got too noisy. Then his older brother would let him crawl into his bed and would soothe him by patting his head and reciting the periodic table till he fell asleep. He would never admit to Mycroft but that was the reason he had the Periodic Table framed and put up in his bedroom even now.

He suddenly felt an intense ache for those days. Simpler days. Happier days. When Mycroft used to pamper him.

And now Mrs. Hudson thought Lestrade was doing the same. _He was really wasn’t he?_

He had volunteered to stay and look after him. He was cooking for him, feeding him, caring for him. He had taken leave from the Work which in itself was astonishing. Maybe if he had taken leave more often earlier then his wife would not have been so unhappy…….. But he knew, although he tried not to think of it too often, (or at all), that his wife had been unhappy with many things.

She had hated Sherlock turning up at their flat, at all hours of the day and night. And she hated the fact that Lestrade never turned him away, never refused him anything he needed and always but always took care of him.

She hated that. She hated him.

And he disliked her too.

He had hidden all these memories away for so many years but the soup and the conversation had opened some doors inside his Mind Palace and some memories were crawling out.

It all came back to him now. The intensity with which he would wish her away. Because he wanted all of Lestrade’s attention on himself. He wanted to be alone with him, to hear his deep voice through his bones as he tried to soothe him, to feel his calming hand on his forehead, to relax in his arms without a care when he felt as though he was falling……….falling further and further during a comedown.

It had been horrible for him. But it was occurring to him only now that it must have been rather difficult and unpleasant for Lestrade too.

_Why had he done all that for him?_  
 _._  
.  
Sherlock would never confess but he had been running an experiment on Lestrade for the past two days. Since he could not see, his hearing had become even sharper. He could recognize the short exhaling sound Lestrade made when he was about to sit down on the sofa or chair and he had taken perverse pleasure in asking him to fetch something just as he sat down. It was an experiment to see how often he could do this before Lestrade refused.

He never did.

It had taken Sherlock two full days of doing this to realize with a shock that he probably never would refuse him and he had stopped asking.  
.  
.  
Lestrade shifted in his sleep just then and Sherlock realized that he was actually feeling comforted by his presence here.

Usually he hated sharing his space with anyone. Didn’t like being touched. Definitely didn’t want anyone so close to him in bed, even with the pillow fort they had constructed……but then Lestrade had always been an exception.

He trusted him. _In fact he wanted him to be close_ …… was his last coherent thought as sleep overtook him.

He had jumbled dreams he didn’t remember the next day, with Mycroft dressed as a swashbuckling pirate and Lestrade as the Captain of a ship, bravely fighting to protect Sherlock.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock gets angry at the thought of Lestrade and Donovan getting together. He is astonished to realize how possessive he felt about the man.

The next morning Greg woke up early, well rested and relaxed. The bed had indeed been much better than the sofa. The pillow fort was still mostly intact and Sherlock seemed to have fallen asleep too.

So he got up quietly and went to put the kettle on. He took out the butter and kept the scones in the oven, ready to be warmed as soon as Sherlock was ready for breakfast.

He brushed his teeth and then went downstairs to get the newspapers and say good morning to Mrs. Hudson.

He had always enjoyed being part of a large family while growing up and he looked forward to the company of good people. Mrs. Hudson clearly loved Sherlock like a son and that made her very high up on Greg’s list of good people. They chatted for five minutes and then Greg went back up to find Sherlock awake and trying to find his way to the sofa.

Greg dropped the newspapers on the floor and went to help him quickly, since the coffee table had been moved last night from its usual place and he was worried Sherlock would trip on it.

As soon as he guided Sherlock to the sofa, he sat down and said “2nd box!”

“And a good morning to you too Sunshine.” Greg said with a smile.

“Hmm. No more delaying tactics today Lestrade!”

“Here it is,” Greg handed it over. “And I am getting your tea for you.”

While Greg helped him drink his tea, Sherlock opened the 2nd box and pulled out what looked like a Rubik’s cube. Greg wondered fleetingly if Mycroft was being cruel.

_How can one solve this without seeing??_

But then Sherlock exclaimed in pleasure “It’s a touch cube! Oh that is so clever!”

Sherlock asked for his laptop and Greg found the YouTube videos that explained how to solve it. Sherlock spent a pleasant hour or so figuring it out with Greg’s help. Then he spent another hour challenging himself to do it faster and faster.

At the end of that hour Greg saw him solve it at lightning speed and shook his head. _No wonder he gets bored so quickly! Is there anything he couldn’t do brilliantly if he set his mind to it?_

Greg warmed the scones and put jam on them and fed Sherlock while he was solving the cube. Once they were done he decided that Sherlock needed to take a shower. He kept everything ready for him and came to help him up from the sofa.

“Don’t be so dull Lestrade.” Sherlock said grumpily. “You are as bad as Mycroft. Do this, do that. Rules. Routine.”

Greg looked at him and shrugged. “You are right. There is no hurry. I will put the eye drops for you now. Let me know when you want to shower. If you want to shower.” He paused. “Of course if you don’t shower at all today then I will be sleeping on the sofa at night.”

Sherlock actually stuck his tongue out at him.

Greg was so startled by the sight that he couldn’t even laugh. The great genius behaved like a petulant child often enough but this had to be a new low.

Then he grinned and said “Oh _please_ do that again so I can take a photo. The next time you insult me at the crime scene I might just share it with the rest of the team.”

Sherlock’s expression was priceless. He flounced on the sofa from sitting to lying down and turned his back to Greg.

Greg went to take a shower, still smiling. _Absolutely adorable_ he thought to himself.

.

.

He came back feeling fresh and energetic and decided to sit and read the papers since Sherlock was still sulking. He had been reading for half an hour when he got a call from Sally. The PC from yesterday was going to come over to take his statement about Rashida.

“She is probably already at Baker Street. Sorry I couldn’t call you earlier to warn you. Been a bit busy here.”

“Is everything ok?” Greg asked, immediately feeling guilty that he wasn’t there, although he knew that Sally was more than capable of coping on her own.

“Oh yeah, no worries Boss.” Sally said. “Just the damn paperwork. Don’t know how you deal with it and keep your temper. Guess you have good practise working with the Fr…..Sherlock. You just make sure you come back to us in one piece when your leave is done. Given the dangerous company you are keeping.”

Greg smiled, wondering what she would say if she ever saw Sherlock with his tongue sticking out and sulking.

“Yeah.” He said with a fond expression in his voice. “We are doing great. Ah there goes the bell. PC Daniels was it? Ok. Talk to you later Sal.” He cut the phone.

“Very _fond_ of her aren’t you?” Sherlock suddenly spoke up, sharply, turning around.

“Well, she is good at her work and she works in my team Sherlock…... I know you two don’t get along but then you don’t really get along with most people do you? Why do you hate her so much more anyway?” Greg asked him.

Sherlock wondered. _Why did he hate her so much anyway? Was it because she seemed to be with Lestrade all the time? And it was obvious that he trusted her and seemed to like her. Huh. Is that what it was? Was he resentful because Lestrade ‘liked’ her? _

He suddenly had this image of the D.I chatting with Sally about something, giving her his warm smile. Maybe they were in the pub together sharing some food, maybe he buys her a drink. Maybe she says something and he laughs……That lovely happy sound.

He scowled at the thought.

Since he had started working as a Consulting Detective he had consciously maintained what he liked to believe was a ‘professional distance’ from Lestrade, so that no one would accuse either of them of misuse of their personal equation. Nor any conflict of interest.

It was occurring to him just now how naïve that had been. The very reason why he was clean and why he had access to crime scenes was because Lestrade had done what he had done for him. During those difficult days earlier he had not bothered to get to know the D.I beyond knowing that he kept him safe. He trusted him and felt comfortable with him. After he started working with him, he didn’t really try to get to know him any better either.

 _But Sally knows him well._ _She is loyal and hard-working and on his team. She likes him and respects him. He likes her. He respects her._

All these thoughts were going through his mind and his face had turned into a thunder cloud.

_They are both single now._

He had this clenching in his stomach at the thought of Lestrade and Donovan getting together. He was astonished to realize how possessive he felt about the man.

_That was not logical……. Was it?_

_He didn’t belong to him………. Did he?_

_Why didn’t he……._

_._

_._

Mrs. Hudson came up the stairs with PC Daniels in tow. She showed her in.

Before going back downstairs she told Greg that she was cooking her special chicken pie so they should come down for lunch later.

“See you at 1 o’clock boys!” she said, leaving the PC hiding her amusement at the sight of the grey haired D.I being called a ‘boy’.

The other man in the flat was the legendary Sherlock Holmes and she kept stealing glances in his direction, quite grateful that his eyes were bandaged, because if that thunderous scowl was anything to go by he would have probably burnt her to a crisp with his glare.

After Greg gave the statement and asked about Rashida and the social services and progress on the investigation, and PC Daniels finally left, it was almost time to go down for lunch.

Greg deliberately refused to say anything again about the shower. Finally Sherlock, realizing that he really ought to get cleaned up before going down to Mrs. Hudson’s flat had to reluctantly ask for help with it.

Greg wisely made no comment but guided him, holding on to his elbow with two fingers, and took him to the bathroom and helped him get oriented to the taps and fixtures and the shower gel bottle.

“Just show me which way to turn the tap for the cold water?” Sherlock asked him innocently.

Greg did that and found himself being suddenly sprayed with freezing cold water. He yelped while Sherlock snickered, having moved the shower head on purpose without Greg noticing.

“You …..you bastard!” Greg said, spluttering and laughing and decided to take revenge by turning the shower head on to Sherlock instead. Sherlock let out a most startled gasp and just stood there, shocked. Greg was holding his stomach and laughing as he turned the tap off.

They were both soaking wet now and freezing cold and laughing like kids. Greg couldn’t remember the last time he had played a prank on anyone.

_Jesus. Made him feel so old to think of that…._

He reached for a towel to dry himself off.

“Hey.” Sherlock said, “Go dry yourself outside. Unless you want to stand here and watch me take off my clothes …..”

That earned Sherlock a towel being flicked on the back of his thighs and his expression of outrage was priceless. Greg chortled as he moved out of Sherlock’s unseeing grasp easily and left the bathroom before they could cause a riot.

He towelled his head off and tried to stop from dripping all over the bedroom floor. He changed into another set of clothes. He was still grinning away and wondered fleetingly if he could prank Sherlock by putting oddly matched clothes but there was no way the genius wouldn’t figure it out just by touching.

_He would think of something better to prank him with later!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dearly beloved readers ! If you have read and enjoyed the story so far do drop in a line! It gets lonely when the author doesn't hear from you :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is getting more comfortable with Greg. Enough to play a prank and .......also get possessive.

Greg kept his eyes and ears open in case Sherlock needed help but he seemed to have figured out the rest of the process and emerged in five minutes with a towel wrapped around his waist, hair still glistening and wet, slicked back from his face.

Greg had seen him in all kinds of undress over all those years but now, Sherlock was fit and healthy and clean and ……… _gods in heaven_ ……..he was _beautiful_. Greg had to will himself not to stare, embarrassed that he was tempted to do so, even though Sherlock couldn’t see him.

He wondered again if Sherlock and John……..of course he knew John always claimed he was Not Gay but it was obvious to Greg that maybe he was a Bit Gay or at least swung both ways and he wondered how it was possible to resist someone so gorgeous ……………even if he was an arrogant and supremely annoying git most of the time. _Yeah, well that explained it_ …..

Meanwhile Sherlock managed to get into his own room and eventually come out fully dressed, looking cleaner and fresher.

“Here. Let me change the bandages for you.” Greg said in a bland tone. “Some idiot seems to have turned on the shower and made them all wet.”

“Yes.” Sherlock said, equally evenly. “I tried to idiot- proof the flat but they still get in.”

They both snickered at the same time.

Greg changed his bandages and then they went down, slowly taking the staircase, Greg walking one step ahead to be able to guide Sherlock.

Mrs. Hudson’s door was open and they could smell her famous chicken pie.

“Oh that smells amazing Mrs. Hudson!” Greg said as soon as they stepped in. “You must teach me how to make it!”

“Yes.” Sherlock said dryly. “You must teach him Mrs. Hudson. Lestrade is loving this whole caretaking so much that he is planning to quit the Yard and set up a holistic homecare business. With cooking and meditation thrown in as extras.”

Greg just shook his head in fake exasperation and Mrs. Hudson said sternly. “Don’t you trouble him Sherlock! He is the kindest and most courteous man I have met in London. And I have met many men in my time as you know……”

“Oh Mrs. Hudson, you are too kind!” Greg said gallantly. “Now if only I had known you when you were younger!”

“Well there is always YouTube if you want to see more…..” Sherlock said, with an expressive tilt of his head and as he expected, both of them exclaimed at him.

“Sherlock!!!”

.

.

They enjoyed a delicious lunch although Sherlock couldn’t eat more than five bites since he had already had a full breakfast. Then he sat in silence as Greg and Mrs. Hudson seemed to have a lot to say to each other. He had tuned them out mostly, although Greg’s rumbling voice was a bit of a distraction. He felt as though he could feel it in his bones and through the floor and the chair and he tried to remember the mechanics of sound waves and such more interesting things than whatever Mrs. Hudson was wittering away about.

He knew he had said that if she left, England would fall, but honestly _the amount of small talk she could make was simply astonishing._

Greg was listening and chatting and thanking his stars that Sherlock hadn’t been able to see the fond expression with which Mrs. Hudson had watched him feed the younger man. _Then again, if Sherlock could see he wouldn’t be feeding him would he……so…._

“Sorry, where did you say she was?” Greg asked, having lost half the conversation in his musings.

“Jessica? She lives in New York right now but is coming down next weekend. She will be here for a few weeks. You really should meet her. She is such a smart young woman. Has been working on cybercrime for the last five years. I am sure you two would get along just fine.”

At that Sherlock suddenly tuned back in to the conversation.

“Who? Who will get along with whom?”

“My second cousin’s older daughter. Jessica. She will get along so well with the Inspector here. She has specialized in cybercrime you know.”

Sherlock frowned. “So what? As if Lestrade knows anything about that. Barely manages to send text messages. He doesn’t need to meet anyone.”

“Oi, since when do I need your approval to meet people?! It’s bad enough that you dictate terms at my crime scene but are you going to decide who I meet socially also now??!” Greg said, only pretending to be annoyed, while in fact rather amused.

“You mean who you _date_? No. Why should I care…….” Sherlock said archly. “In fact maybe you and John can exchange data. He seems to go through them one a week anyway.”

“Sherlock!” both of them said again in exasperation.

He scowled and said “I have a headache. Lestrade, take me back now.”

“Oh won’t you wait for a cup of coffee Inspector?” Mrs. Hudson asked, appearing reluctant to let go of the pleasant company.

“No thank you Mrs. Hudson.” Greg said regretfully. “Sherlock does need to rest a bit I think and take his medicines. It’s been lovely though. Thank you so much! I hope to be able to invite you over for a home cooked meal upstairs one of these days while I am here.”

“And how long is that dear?”

“I guess another 5 days or so? Once John gets back I will be off.” Greg smiled at her and helped Sherlock to the door and then upstairs, walking one step ahead of him and checking that he was holding the banisters and climbing up properly.

When they left, Mrs. Hudson sent a text message.

{ _Good idea about ‘Jessica’! Reaction as expected.}_

.

.

Sherlock was quiet while climbing up.

_Another 5 days. Only._

_That seemed like hardly anything. Then Lestrade would go away and they would see each other only when there was some crime scene that needed his expertise. They would meet there, with Sally and Anderson and all the others on his team._

_Maybe Lestrade would go off with them to the pub or out for dinner._

_Maybe he would go on a date with that infernal Jessica._

_._

_._

By the time they reached upstairs he really did have a headache and was rather crabby with Greg when he gave him his medicines and suggested he lie down for some time.

“Rest for an hour Sherlock.” Greg said, easing him on to his bed. Ignoring his scowling and grumbling. “I am going to research some good recipes and plan our meals.” He smiled at Sherlock when he turned his back on him, still sulking. “After tea I have a surprise for you.”

Greg covered him with the light duvet and went out into the living room, where he searched and researched and made lists of ingredients he needed for cooking meals over the next few days. He emailed his sister for the recipe of the grilled fish in mustard hollandaise sauce that had been their grandmother’s specialty.  

Then he went through some of the books he had brought along, thinking he may even read them aloud to Sherlock if he so wanted. He had packed many old favourites to re-read and finally decided on a collection of short stories to read right away. It contained gems from Saki, Maugham, O Henry and others and he spent a few pleasant minutes reading before he dozed off.

It had been a rather heavy meal....

.

.

He was woken up by the genius who was fumbling around near the sofa, patting his head and face with his hands.

“What are you doing? Lestrade? I am bored. Have you fallen asleep??”

“I am an old man Sherlock, I get tired!” groaned Greg, batting his hands away and sitting up.

“Don’t be absurd.” Sherlock said sharply. “Why do you call yourself old? You are only 40! Mycroft is just two years younger than you and John only 4.”

“Because….”Greg started to say and then realized he didn’t know how to finish. His heart rate went up just a tiny bit and he got up with an excuse to go to the kitchen to make tea.

Sherlock sat there on the vacated sofa with his mind working furiously.

_If he is only 2 years older than Mycroft and 4 years older than John that makes him 8 years older than me._

_Oh._

_He calculates his age with reference to me. _

_Why me? Why am I his point of reference? He feels old because of me? What does that mean? _

_That he thinks I am young. Too young._

_Too young for what??_


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock remembers what he had heard Lestrade say to John once, when he thought the Consulting Detective wasn’t listening. “He is a great man and one day, if we are lucky he will even be a good one.”

Sherlock was still trying to solve the puzzle of Lestrade’s age perception while the said man was getting him to drink his tea.

When they were done, Greg cleared the cups and then came and sat next to Sherlock and put a large cloth bag in his hands.

“Here.” He said. “The surprise I promised you.”

Sherlock was about to ask what it was when he when felt it. _Did that feel like bones??_ He touched it some more. _Yup. Bones it was. Lots of bones_. _Over 200 bones in fact…_

“Lestrade?” He asked cautiously, but with a thrill of excitement bubbling in his voice. “Is this an entire skeleton?!”

Greg said _yes, it certainly was_! He had heard Molly talk about a skeleton for sale on the notice board at St. Bart’s. Probably belonging to an old timer since they mostly used moulded ones in medical colleges now. Greg said he knew right away that he wanted to gift that to Sherlock and had bought it some months ago, waiting for the right occasion!

“And me going blind was the perfect opportunity?!” Sherlock asked, caustic as ever.

“Shut up you git. You are only temporarily disabled. I have always wanted to suggest to you that you should do a series of teaching videos. To train others in understanding how to deduce stuff from bones. Clues, answers, puzzles. So I thought having your own full set of bones would make it easier.”

Sherlock sat in silence for a minute. Lestrade spent so much time thinking about him, planning for his future, wanting him to do more, do better. _Be a good man._ That is what he had heard him say to John once, when he thought the Consulting Detective wasn’t listening. “He is a great man and one day, if we are lucky he will even be a good one.”

That had made him feel odd to hear. Hot and cold at the same time. Proud that Lestrade called him a great man. Disappointed that he thought he was not a good man.

He didn’t like the idea that he disappointed Lestrade.

_He disappointed everyone didn’t he? Mycroft. John. Lestrade_. His lips turned down at the thought and his shoulders slumped just a little bit.

“Hey Sunshine?! What happened?” Lestrade was shaking him by the shoulder, sounding worried. “Are you alright? Did you not like the idea? I thought……”

“No Lestrade, it’s perfect!” Sherlock said with a genuine smile and Greg sat back pleased with himself.

“When John is back you should talk to him about planning the series and the chapters or episodes. Apparently there is a huge demand for such stuff on YouTube. You seem to be fond of using You Tube anyway. To snoop on Mrs. Hudson.” he said with a snort. “Is she seriously on it?!”

“Oh wouldn’t you like to know Lestrade.” Sherlock raised one eyebrow at him. “But I will not reveal her maiden name.” Then he frowned. “Why don’t you go find her third niece twice removed or whoever she was trying to set you up with instead?”

Greg just shook his head at the mercurial mood shifts and said he was going to get things started for dinner and then they would go for a walk like yesterday.

He got up and went to the kitchen, leaving Sherlock on the sofa looking as happy as a kid in a candy store, surrounded by hundreds of bones.

.

.

Mycroft was watching in reluctant admiration as Greg’s present seemed to have trumped his own for the day.

_Hmm. But inventing Jessica did give him one point._

So the score so far was Silver Fox 3: Ice Man 1

The Game was still on.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly comes over for dinner bearing a gift. Red Riding Hood and the sexy grey Wolf have pudding together after she leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting extra chapters today since I am travelling for work tomorrow! More chapters coming your way on Saturday ! Comments are always welcome and much hoped for :)

Sherlock spent a happy hour figuring out all the bones while Greg was doing stuff in the kitchen. Then with Greg’s help he managed to re-construct the skeleton on the dining table. They never used it to eat dinner on anyway….

Greg followed Sherlock’s instructions in placing all the long bones and then the pelvis, vertebrae and the small bone. Sherlock then picked up the skull. “I think I will keep Henri on the mantelpiece till my eyes get better. At least Billy will have some company.”

“Henri?” Greg asked.

“Yes. Billy is named after William Kidd, the most notorious pirate so the new one should be named after one too. Henri Caesar was a legendary pirate from Haiti who was a slave and who apparently buried 6 million dollars somewhere in Florida which was never found.”

“Glad to have found Billy a companion.” Greg said shaking his head. _Sherlock was such a child sometimes. Him and his pirates…_. “But it’s a bit late now to go for a walk today because we have a guest for dinner.”

“Who is it?” Sherlock asked, immediately suspicious and hostile. “It’s not Mycroft is it?”

“You know, for all that you pretend to hate him, he is always the first person you think of.” Greg said thoughtfully.

“Yes, that’s because I don’t want to see him.” Sherlock huffed. “Use your brains Lestrade. I am sure you think of the Chief Super first thing when you think of work.”

_No_ thought Greg. _I usually think of you. Hmm. Surprise…._

“So who is it?” Sherlock demanded.

“It is someone you won’t mind so don’t worry.” Greg said calmly.

Sherlock fretted and badgered Greg but he wouldn’t give in.

Finally at 6.30 pm the doorbell rang and when Mrs. Hudson opened the front door and Sherlock heard the voices he relaxed.

“It’s Molly! You could have said so. I don’t mind her.”

“I know.” said Greg. “That’s _exactly_ what I _have_ been saying genius.”

Molly came up the stairs and came in saying hello to Greg. Then she came close to Sherlock.

“Hello Sherlock”, she touched him gently on the shoulder to let him know she was there. “Is the pain better now?”

“Yes.” Sherlock nodded. “Have you got anything for me?”

“Sherlock!” Greg said, mildly exasperated. “Let her at least sit down and get a drink.”

 “It’s ok Greg.” Molly smiled. “Yes I have got something for you Sherlock.”

“What is it?!” Sherlock asked, as impatient as a child at Christmas.

Molly took it out of her bag. Greg started laughing when he saw what it was.

“What is it?” Sherlock asked as she put it in his hands. “Ughh.” he said and almost threw it away. “Tedious.”

Molly picked it back up and kept it on the coffee table.

“You have to use it Sherlock.” She said softly. “Your eyes are precious. You have to stay safe. I know you don’t think your transport is worth worrying about but it has to carry your brain around doesn’t it? So you must take better care of it. Will you promise?”

Sherlock was about to go into a sulk when Greg interrupted and asked Molly if she wanted a drink. She refused since she was working later.

“I have made a simple meal Molly. Hope that is fine!” Greg said going into the kitchen.

“Oh yes Greg, you shouldn’t have bothered with dinner at all. I just wanted to check on Sherlock. I have to get back to Bart’s by 9 pm for the night shift anyway and I don’t want to be late.”

“You should leave now in fact.” Sherlock said crankily, still annoyed at her ‘gift’ which was an entire universal precaution kit consisting of overalls, eye protection and long gloves.

Molly got up as if to go.

Sherlock promptly became alert and spoke up. “Are you going? I…I didn’t really mean that…”

Greg actually peeped out of the kitchen to hear this. _The Great Sherlock Holmes was almost apologizing! Will wonders never cease…._

“Yes, I didn’t think you meant it either,” Molly said, smiling, as she walked towards the kitchen. “But I wanted to see what Greg is cooking. It smells divine!”

Sherlock reluctantly followed her and then sat in his chair from where he could hear them.

“It’s mulligatawny soup.” Greg told her, stirring and adding salt. “My grandma and granddad met in South India in 1901. My Da’s mum had just come over from England to be with _her_ father in Fort St George, later called Madras. And my Granddad had just been assigned to the French colony nearby in Pondicherry. They met at a formal dinner and probably looked into each other’s watering eyes over this soup and that was that.” He chuckled. “This soup is hot as hell in its original form! This recipe is a slightly modified one and uses coconut milk.”

“Oh really?!What a story!” Molly exclaimed. “They must have led such exciting lives!”

“I guess.” Greg said, putting some garlic beard in the oven and taking the salad out of the fridge. “But we are not doing too badly ourselves are we?” He turned to see if Sherlock was still listening. “Chasing killers, solving murders, locked room mysteries, babysitting geniuses and all that.”

“Yes…. And imagine when we have grandchildren we can tell them about all these adventures. I mean…” Molly was flustered, “When you and I have separate grandchildren of course……Not that I am anywhere close to even having children right now.” She gave a nervous giggle.

“Oh Mols, I am the one who isn’t likely to have any.” Greg said with a wistful smile. “You will certainly have children and someday also grand- children. There is surely someone out there who is lucky enough to be a part of your life. Keep the faith.”

Sherlock was listening to all this and he felt jealous and unsettled somehow.

_How does he do it?! Why does he do it?? Why does he care? Why does he seek out those who need him and be there for them? That is why he is a detective and seeks justice. He would never join the army. He would never hurt anyone even on orders._

“Greg I am sorry.” Molly said softly. “It must be hard.”

Greg must have shrugged cos he didn’t hear anything.

_Or was it because…..Molly and Greg….were they….?! No! NO! That was not ….He could not……._

“Greg!” Sherlock called out in a grumpy voice. “Are you going to finish cooking anytime today?”

Greg laughed, thinking that Sherlock was feeling put out at not being the centre of attention.

“Yes Your Highness.” he said. “First course coming up right away!”

.

.

They managed to have a pleasant dinner and Sherlock managed not to insult Molly or say disparaging things about any of the topics Greg brought up. He was restless from having to be polite for so long though and when Molly declined pudding and finally left he collapsed on the sofa and heaved a long sigh of relief.

“Good heavens Sherlock.” Greg looked at him. “Is it really so difficult to be around people?”

“Yes! You know it is Lestrade.”

“It’s a miracle you haven’t tried to throw me out yet.” Greg mumbled.

Sherlock heard him and didn’t reply but thought to himself _You are not ‘people’ Lestrade. You are….you._

Then he said, “I want my pudding now. And I want my story.” And he gave Greg a charming bright smile and tilted his head at him.

_The bastard. Knew exactly how to get his way, faking his charm when he wanted_ ……Greg muttered as he came with the soup and bread pudding in two bowls on a tray.

Sherlock had refused dinner saying he wasn’t hungry. Greg realized that he didn’t want to be fed in front of Molly though he hadn’t minded in front of Mrs. Hudson. So he had just given him some garlic bread to eat at the time.

Sherlock sniffed at the soup disdainfully and Greg told him calmly, “First your dinner then your pudding.” After Sherlock had a few spoonfuls (reluctantly) Greg relented and started to tell him about Red Riding Hood as he fed him the pudding.

Sherlock gave a pleased smile when the story started.

“Once upon a time there was a young girl who lived at the edge of the forest……”

As the story progressed he pointed out to Greg the warnings for virgin girls about the power of hidden sexuality, and how the grey wolf represented unbridled masculinity.

Meanwhile, on his CCTV feed Mycroft was watching the almost androgynous beautiful face with its curly hair and the handsome face with grey hair, leaning close to each other and he wondered how they couldn’t see what was as plain as daylight.

_Blindfolded Sherlock sitting there like a damsel in distress, being spoon fed by a fond Greg as they both discussed fairy tales concerning hidden sexuality and powerful masculinity_.

_Truly there are none so blind as those who cannot see._

Greg seemed to have had a similar thought at almost the same time since he suddenly narrowed his eyes and looked around, aware that surely Mycroft had cameras in the flat and what this scene must be looking like.

_Well too bad_ , thought Greg because he was enjoying these sessions and having Sherlock’s full attention on a conversation was electrifying and thrilling, even though he would have preferred to be able to look into those blue grey eyes while doing so.

_Maybe they would discuss Sleeping Beauty tomorrow._


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock had realized that being forced to use his other senses meant that he now had an even more heightened awareness of smells and sounds than earlier.

By the fourth day they had fallen into a comfortable pattern and a rhythm of moving around each other.

It was like they were both re-discovering what had always been there between them. Unspoken and even un –acknowledged. Deep and true.

So deep that they had managed to hide it from themselves also.

But it was surfacing now. Within this intimate domesticity.

Greg became gentler than he always was with him. Almost tender.

He would hold Sherlock’s face, not by the chin as he did on the first day but by cupping his cheek with his hand as he put the eye drops, three times a day. He guided him with his arm around his waist now rather than just two fingers at the elbow. He touched him whenever he passed by just to let him know he was there. He let Sherlock sleep with his head in his lap as he watched telly, softly running his hands through his hair.

Sherlock also reverted to being cared for by him. He didn’t remember much about those awful days with the pain and the highs and the miserable lows. But…. he did remember the sense of security and relief he felt every time Lestrade found him, or when he would take himself to the D.I.

He remembered the feeling of relief when he had seen the grey haired cop drinking beer at the bar during the terrible days at Baskerville recently. He had tried to cover up his relief by pretending to be annoyed but he knew that it was a huge weight off his shoulders. He sighed with pleasure when he remembered that.

John also took care of him and Sherlock knew he cared. But somehow John kept wanting to fix him, get him to behave better. With Lestrade it was something different.

It had always been something deeper he realized. Something more profound and true..….almost fundamental………and intimate.

.

.

Sherlock had realized that being forced to use his other senses meant that he now had an even more heightened awareness of smells and sounds than earlier.

He could hear every time Lestrade cleared his throat, the way he sipped his tea, how often he chewed before swallowing his food and the way he cracked his knuckles when he sat down to read the papers. He would hear him humming as he chopped vegetables and that was a soothing sound he remembered from almost a decade ago. The sound that would make him feel like he was in his safe place.

Sherlock would turn his head to follow the sounds like a sunflower towards the sun.

His sense of smell was always strong but now it almost threatened to overpower him since it was compensating for not being able to visualize. He could smell the way the John’s shower gel was different on Lestrade and the spicy fragrance of his own after-shave.

But most of all he could _feel_ and he would never let on to the older man that he knew what each shirt and T- shirt of his felt like because he held him so close so often-- whether it was to manoeuvre him, help him in and out of chairs and showers, or stand really close to him to put the eye drops.

He knew how different his right hand felt from his left as it cupped his face to put the eye drops.

He was contemplating about the way Lestrade helped him sit down, his breath ghosting his face, the earthy smell of his after- shave mingled with himself and he suddenly thought how good it would feel to move just a little bit and feel his lips on his own.

To feel the pressure and to breathe the same air and hold him close……

He shocked himself so much with that fleeting fantasy that he froze for many minutes trying to process what had just happened. It didn’t help that he was lying on the sofa at the time, his head on Lestrade’s lap.

Greg was petting his hair while Sherlock had been absently tracing circles on his thighs.

.

.

When Mrs Hudson peeped in later that night to ask about breakfast for the next day, she found them asleep on the sofa with Greg leaning back and snoring softly, his hands in Sherlock curls and Sherlock fast asleep with one hand tucked in under his chin and the other one curled around Greg’s legs.

She smiled to herself and started to quietly go down again. Then she stopped and took a photo on her phone.

_It was too cute to resist! And she knew an old friend who would love to see it._

Mycroft also saw the scene on CCTV and revised the score.

Silver Fox was far ahead now with 4 while Ice Man trailed behind at 1.

.

.

The men on the sofa woke up an hour later, Greg’s neck stiff from the odd angle. They shuffled together, half asleep, to the bedroom and lay down and went back again to sleep, completely forgetting to build the pillow fort.

When Greg woke up early the next morning, Sherlock had his arm around his waist and the curly head was buried into his side. One leg was hooked over his own from knee to ankle. Greg was still for a long minute wondering if this was a dream or reality before his bladder made the decision for him. He managed to gently prise himself free and went to use the loo and then to get tea ready.

His brain was unable to process much beyond a shocked repetition of the waking up scene.

_He had spent the night with Sherlock without even a pillow fort and they had woken up tangled in each other._

With deep certainly he knew that he would never forget the feeling of bliss and just feeling so _right_ about it all.

_If only they could wake up like this every day….._

_Stop it Greg_ he told himself sharply! _Even fantasies should have some limits!!_

_The countdown had already begun_. He was dreading it but the days were ticking past and in a scant three days John would be back and their lives would be re-set to default state.

Sherlock and John living together in 221B.

Greg alone in his flat.

They would all meet occasionally when there was a case which was worth the while for the genius.

He would turn up at the crime scene in a swirl of a black coat and blue scarf, insult them, deduce things, solve mysteries and swirl off. With John.

_What was the point in imagining things would be any different? This was a mere glitch in the matrix. An aberration. A distraction._

_._

_._

Sherlock woke up late and demanded tea when he came out.

Greg knew Sherlock had no idea what had happened while they slept but he knew and he was increasingly conscious of a deep sense of wanting to make the most of the precious time that was left for them to be in each other’s company like this.

With uninhibited, easy familiarity. Comfortable domesticity.

Perhaps even something bordering on intimacy.

They had tea and Greg made some French toast for breakfast. To his utter surprise Sherlock actually ate three slices as he fed him and read some newspaper headlines.

The rest of the morning was spent lazing around. Sherlock had opened Mycroft’s 3rd box and it had contained a bunch of tactile puzzles including a Sudoku braille cube, pyramid puzzles and tangrams.

Greg had also relaxed and tried to catch up on his reading. Once in a while he enjoyed something so much he felt compelled to read it out and share it with Sherlock, who would listen and grunt or smile or make some comment.

Greg felt a sharp pang when he realized how much he would miss this when he went back home. Having Sherlock all to himself. No distractions with cases, none of the madness and drama that surrounded them both at crime scenes. No running around, chasing, defending.

Just quiet togetherness.

He wanted to freeze this moment in time and keep it with him like a precious treasure.

He had an image of them sitting like this, many years hence, even Sherlock with some grey hair by that time, both of them enjoying the silence as well as the occasional conversation. He would cook, Sherlock would write some books maybe, or make videos. Sherlock would smile and come near him and bend over to kiss….

He woke up from his daydream with a start.

Sherlock was looming over him but it was his hand on his face……..not his lips.

“Lestrade! Will you stop dozing off! I was talking to you and there was no reply so I had to leave my puzzle and come over to check if you were still alive.”

“Shut up you git.” Greg said in a sleep rough voice. “You will be the death of me some day I am sure but I don’t plan to go so early.” He sat up and rubbed his face and eyes and yawned. “What did you want?”

“Come here and help me with this puzzle.”

So Greg did and after about half an hour he had had enough.

He made a quick phone call to Sally to check on Rashida and was told that her parents had managed to convince the social services and said her uncle was to blame and had left the country now and they had taken her back home.

Greg frowned. He did not like the sound of that. He sat pensively for a while wondering what could be done for children at this hallway age. _They were still minors but they were not such small children that everyone instinctively felt protective of them. Rashida was smart and knew her mind. He wondered if he would be considered too old and too male and too single to be able to foster her at some point. He wasn’t going to have kids of his own now anyway_.

He glanced over at Sherlock. _And he would probably stay single because he didn’t think there was place for anyone else really in his heart any more. Probably hadn’t been for a very long time……_

_._

_._

By this time it was past noon so he asked Sherlock what he wanted for lunch.

“Nothing.” said the genius. “I ate so much breakfast already. You will make me as fat as Mycroft at this rate.”

“Then I am just going to have leftover soup and some salad. By the way”, Greg said casually. “You do know that Mycroft is rather slim and fit.”

“He wasn’t when he left for University.” Sherlock said sharply and then his entire body language conveyed that the topic was closed.

.

.

After lunch Sherlock played the violin while Greg checked his email and made lists of ingredients he needed if he was to make his grandma’s famous recipe for Mrs. Hudson.

He decided to go grocery shopping at 3 pm so that they would have time for a walk before dinner. When he came back Sherlock seemed to have gone into his Mind Palace, siting cross legged on the sofa and fingers steepled under his chin.

He didn’t disturb him and started prep for dinner. When everything was ready he made tea for them both and sat and drank his while waiting for Sherlock to emerge.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg finds the final key that unlocks the heart of the genius. Mycroft hears things he had never dreamed of.

Finally at 4.30 pm he decided to disturb Sherlock and shook him out of his trance and said “Come let’s get ready and go down.”

Ten minutes later they found themselves in the same garden round the corner and Sherlock noticed that they sat on the same bench.

Greg was looking around and Sherlock sensed what he was doing.

“Are you dying to rescue someone else today Lestrade?” he asked wryly “Or are you searching for the Professor?”

“Professor??” Greg asked, genuinely bewildered.

“Linguistics from SOAS”. Sherlock said curtly.

“Ah yes, her! No, no. In fact I was looking at…..”and he suddenly stopped. “Sherlock, do you trust me?”

“Always.” Sherlock said promptly, surprising both of them a little.

“Hmm. Ok. Then just wait here a minute.”

“Again?!” Sherlock said in annoyance.

Greg just walked off and came back less than half a minute later.

“Sherlock just put your hands out.”

“Lestrade what childish game is this?” the man grumbled but put his hands out.

.

.

Greg wished later that he had had his phone ready to take a photo of that moment when Sherlock realized that he was holding a tiny fluffy puppy and he instinctively brought it close to his face for what could only be described as a cuddle.

No matter how grimly Sherlock argued later that he just did it for a detailed deduction, Greg would just grin as he struggled to defend it and after everything he would just say “Sunshine, I know what I saw. That was _totally_ a cuddle.”

But right now, there was Sherlock with a squirming tiny puppy in his hands and an expression of delight as he cuddled it.

Something came undone inside the genius and Greg would never forget what happened next.

“Oh Gregory!” Sherlock said with a sigh of pure bliss. “I wish we could take it home.”

.

.

Greg felt as though he had suddenly slipped into an alternate universe.

Sherlock had called him _Gregory._

Sherlock had actually totally called him by his first name.

And then he had said _I wish we could take it home._

Home. We.

He wasn’t sure he could speak for a few moments.

 _Oh Sherlock_ he thought to himself. _You have no idea what you have done to me, I am so far gone that at this point you could ask me for anything and I would not be able to refuse it._

His blood ran cold. How was he going to survive seeing him only at crime scenes? Aloof and deducing…….walking away when it was done.

.

.

The woman who had come with the puppy walked over just then and her small son spoke up plaintively, clearly worried at the turn of events.

“Mummy, can we take Benji back from the man now?”

“Yes, dear, don’t worry. The man is not well so his friend wanted to make him feel better. It’s good that Benji can help him isn’t it?” His mother asked.

The boy must have nodded silently.

Sherlock was cataloguing all this while enjoying the pure bliss of having the puppy lick his chin and give out tiny puppy barks while jumping on his lap.

Finally the boy could wait no more and Greg told Sherlock they were going to have to give him back. Sherlock nodded and lifted the puppy for a final cuddle.

_There was really no other way to describe it. Really._

“Thank you so much Ma’am!” Greg said, smiling. “And thank you son.” he said, shaking hands with the little boy. “It was very kind of you to share!”

.

.

Then he sat back on the bench next to Sherlock who was still smiling dreamily.

Greg waited.

Then Sherlock said “Greg….. How did you know?”

“Know what?” Greg asked cautiously.

He was still staggered by the fact that after almost a decade of Lestrade this and Lestrade that he was suddenly not just _Gregory_ but in fact _Greg._

Sherlock started to tell him about Redbeard. How much he had loved the dog. The puppy had been brought home for Mycroft but had attached himself to Sherlock. How he loved him and played with him and how the dog never left his side. It had been blissful and perfect. He spoke softly and slowly, obviously pulling out long suppressed memories.

“And then Mycroft went to University…..” Sherlock paused.

Greg waited. _This is where he had paused last night also. What was the trauma had he experienced at that time that made it so difficult to talk about?_

“Then Redbeard fell ill and had to be put down.” Sherlock said, trying hard to supress his emotions but a faint tremor could be heard.

They were both quiet for a beat and then Greg put his hand on Sherlock’s and said “I am so sorry Sherlock.”

As though emerging from the depths of a well, Sherlock’s voice gradually got stronger and he sat up straighter and said “I always blamed Mycroft for not being there. For abandoning me and then for abandoning Redbeard. Somehow I believed that if Mycroft had been there he would have made Redbeard better.” He looked in Greg’s direction and gave a wan smile. “I really did believe that Mycroft could do anything. He taught me everything I know. I missed him. And I hated him because I thought he didn’t think of me. He didn’t care. He left me behind and never looked back.”

Sherlock paused. He seemed to consider something and make up his mind. “You asked me why I took drugs? I think it may have been to get Mycroft’s attention and to also punish him. Foolish to harm myself I know but I wanted to hurt him. I wanted him to feel the pain that I did when he left.”

He paused. “He broke my heart Greg.”

Greg felt so distressed when he heard this. “Oh Sherlock!” he breathed. “You almost killed yourself to get your brother’s attention? To punish him? No wonder he keeps chanting the mantra of caring is not an advantage!” He didn’t know what else to say. “I am sorry Sherlock. I am so sorry.” He put his arm around his shoulder and gave him a sideways hug.

He felt as though he himself might cry.

 _Mycroft leaving had broken Sherlock’s heart?! Jesus wept_. He had always suspected that Sherlock put up a cold front to protect himself from too many emotions. _But this?! He felt this way for his brother….. What might he do if a romantic relationship went wrong? Good heavens. That did not even bear thinking about._

Both of them sat in silent contemplation of what had been said and what it meant and what could be done about it now.

.

.

They had no idea that Mrs. Hudson had put a listening/tracking device inside Sherlock’s coat as Mycroft had requested because he had been genuinely worried that Sherlock would get bored and storm off alone.

As a result, Mycroft had heard every single word of what Sherlock had just confessed.

And what he heard just now was something he had never considered in his wildest dreams _. Sherlock blamed him for Redbeard and wanted to punish him because it had hurt him so much when he moved away?! Why had he never said so?_

Mycroft could not remember the last time he had cried in his entire life but he came perilously close to doing so now. _His baby brother, his beloved baby brother had suffered all these years because of separation from him?! He was responsible for all this?!_

He had no idea what to think or say or do. He just sat in shock as well as awe at Greg who had somehow managed what years of interrogation may never have dragged out of Sherlock.

Forget torture and threats. Greg had managed this impossible miracle with a puppy and unconditional love and just being there.

One part of Mycroft’s brain wondered if they should test this as a possible option during MI6 interrogations and another part of his brain suggested that all other parts should shut up because the main part of the brain was still processing life altering information.

.

.

Meanwhile it was getting late, so Greg reluctantly said they had to go back. He had asked Mrs. Hudson to come over around 7pm for dinner. He stood up and gave his hand to Sherlock to help him up.

Sherlock took it and stood up but then didn’t let go. He took Greg’s hand in his own and laced their fingers.

Greg’s heart hitched. He felt as though he could no longer breathe. Nor could he remember why breathing was important at all. He almost closed his eyes to savour the pleasure of this moment.

He was so terrified that he may never have this again that he never wanted to let this moment go.

They walked home slowly, quietly, hand in hand, the pressure and warmth of Sherlock’s fingers against his own doing things to Greg’s heart and mind that made him feel like his blood was singing and his feet were floating and _was the entire street humming with Christmas carols or violins or some kind of orchestra?_

When they reached the front door Sherlock still seemed reluctant to let go so Greg used his left hand to open the door and they climbed back up to the flat.

Finally Greg led Sherlock to the sofa and when he sat down he went to the kitchen to get dinner ready. His mind was still reeling with everything that had happened and a part of him was glad that Mrs. Hudson would be coming to distract them both.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg looked at Sherlock, sitting there smiling in his direction, and wondered how he was going to manage when he went back to his flat in a few days’ time. To lonely dinners while watching TV, without this breath-taking mad man in his life, demanding food and stories. No one curled up on his side at night.

****

His grilled fish recipe was highly appreciated by Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock didn’t care for fish if it wasn’t fried and served with chips so Greg had served him pasta. He fed him one bite and Sherlock ate it but made a face.

“It’s not as good as your usual.” he said.

Greg looked at him to see if he was joking or being sarcastic. He wasn’t.

So Greg said slowly. “I didn’t make it. It’s from Angelo’s.”

Mrs. Hudson face could only be described as triumphant and knowing and Greg was quite completely flustered.

“I guess they also have off days?” He said to Sherlock with a shrug.

Sherlock hummed in agreement and then just wandered off instead of eating.

Mrs. Hudson and Greg let him be and had a good meal and good conversations. Finally Mrs. Hudson said her goodbyes and goodnights and went back downstairs.

As soon as she left, Sherlock turned to Greg.

“I am hungry.”

“What do you want to eat? You didn’t like the pasta and you don’t care for this fish do you?”

“I know Mrs. Hudson got her trifle pudding.” Sherlock grinned. “I want that.”

When Greg came back with a serving Sherlock asked for his story also.

Greg fed Sherlock one spoon which he ate appreciatively and suddenly said, “Did you eat any pudding? It’s delicious. You will like it.”

Greg felt once again as though time had stopped. In his entire time of knowing Sherlock he had never ever not once heard him ask anyone if they eaten and to do so.

Yes he did make sure John was fed at regular intervals because it interfered with the work

But this….. This was something else. It was caring. It was bonding.

It was terrifying.

Apparently for both of them because Sherlock suddenly went silent and a slight flush crept up his neck. Greg looked at him and thought to himself _Sweetheart you are just making it infinitely more difficult for me to walk away from this._

Then he did what he needed to, for both of them, and he took a bite from the same bowl, ate it and said, “Yes you are right. It is delicious! One more recipe for me to learn from Mrs Hudson to set up my Holistic Homecare Agency.”

And they both laughed in relief.

.

.

Greg looked at Sherlock, sitting there smiling in his direction, and wondered how he was going to manage when he went back to his flat in a few days’ time.

To lonely dinners while watching TV, without this breath-taking mad man in his life, demanding food and stories. No one curled up on his side at night.

No one sleeping on his lap while he ran his fingers through his soft curls.

No one holding his hand. With fingers laced.

He almost shivered at the bleakness of it all.

_Don’t go that road_ he told himself grimly, _for that way lies madness_. _Sherlock is too vulnerable right now and dependant on you. He has just confronted what were probably the two biggest traumas of his life that have shaped him._

_He doesn’t need the drama of a new emotional attachment to deal with._

_Keep calm and carry on._

.

.

So he fed him another spoonful and started “Once upon a time a King and a Queen invited fairies to their daughter’s christening. An old fairy had been forgotten and she came in and cursed the princess that she would prick her finger on a spindle and ……”

.

.

Later than night after they had changed into pajamas, Greg started to put the pillows in between them on the bed, quite sure that Sherlock had no idea how they had slept the earlier night. Sherlock was sitting on his side of the bed already and felt them being placed.

“Greg…” he started tentatively. Then he paused. “Never mind.” he said eventually. “Goodnight.”

.

.

Greg couldn’t fall asleep. He lay in the dark remembering how they had slept last night and it just felt so cold and empty without Sherlock’s arms and legs around him. He was thinking of the entire story of Redbeard and Mycroft and it dawned on him that the older brother probably had no idea of all this. He was astonished that Sherlock had opened up to tell him even this much.

_Who knew what hidden depths still existed?_

Greg wondered. _Is this all that Sherlock had needed? Some pampering and unconditional love?_

He was suddenly very angry with Mycroft. Mycroft may be answerable only Mummy and The Queen, (probably in that order) but he would have to listen to Greg. Greg had to let him know. He owed him that much, in fact he owed Sherlock that much.

He sent him a text, glad that texts could not convey emotions and the terse almost angry way in which he typed out the message.

{We should meet. Tomorrow? GL}

He kept the phone back on the bedside table.

Then he turned towards Sherlock and started to speak. “Sherlock…..” he said softly but Sherlock interrupted him harshly.

‘Don’t Greg. Just don’t. Everyone behaves like I am broken and I need to be fixed. Mycroft. John. Everyone. But never you. So please don’t start now.”

Greg was silent for a while. Processing this.

_Sherlock was hurt. He had never been able to tolerate seeing him physically hurt…. but now? Knowing that his heart was hurting……..there was no power on this planet that could have made him just stand by_.

So he sat up a bit and said, “Sherlock, I am sorry if anyone ever made you feel broken and that you needed fixing. You don’t. Well, not any more than everyone else on this planet. No one is perfect Sherlock. Not even god. I guess that’s why we have so many religions too.”  


A rare moment of insight from the straightforward D.I.

Sherlock almost smiled.

‘In fact I am so proud of you and the work you do and how you manage to resist going back to those days. I feel so lucky to be able to know you, work with you……You are not only a brilliant genius but you are an extraordinary human being. What I am trying to say is …….. I wasn’t planning to fix you or pity you. I guess I am selfish in some ways. It hurts me to see you hurt. Always has. I guess I was just hoping to fix myself somehow……..” and he trailed off.

The words _I love you_ may not have been actually articulated but they hung in the air as clearly as if they had neon signs on them.

There was a thick silence in the bedroom as both men tried to wrap their heads around what had just been said.

Then Greg deliberately picked up each one of the pillows between them and tossed them away. He lay down on his right side and tentatively put out his left hand into the space between them.

He heard a sigh of relief and then felt Sherlock’s hand slide into his own.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holistic Homecare Agency is a nod to Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency of course :)


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock looked hesitant. “When my eyes get better, will you still spend time with me without just being at crime scenes?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And finally, 15 chapters in, there may be a kiss. Ah the thick gooey pleasure of anticipation in a slow burn......:)

When Greg woke up early that morning there was a message on his phone.

 {7 am. The Monocle Café.  Two blocks away from Baker Street. MH}

_Bloody hell Mycroft_ he thought. _7 am?_ Then he sighed. _It was a miracle Mycroft slept at all actually. Running the country and probably large swathes of the rest of the world….. and the most difficult task of them all –keeping Sherlock safe._

_24 hours couldn’t possibly be enough._

But ….Sherlock was still asleep.

John used to always complain that Sherlock hardly ever slept.

Greg’s heart broke a little again. _Maybe Sherlock didn’t like sleeping because he had difficult dreams. And now that he had un-burdened himself he could sleep better._

He was sorely tempted to go to his side and hug him but he didn’t want to disturb his sleep.

He got ready quickly, went downstairs and told Mrs. Hudson that he was going out for some groceries. He walked briskly down the street to meet Mycroft who was waiting in a private room at The Monocle Cafe. He handed him the grocery list so that one of his minions could get it done while they talked. Sherlock may not be able to see but his brain was working just fine and if Greg turned up more than half an hour later and without groceries he knew exactly what he would deduce.

‘Mycroft” Greg started to say when he was interrupted by Mycroft.

“I heard everything Gregory. I ….well, there was a bug in Sherlock’s coat.”

‘I was worried he would go off on his own in an angry fit while he couldn’t see.’ He clarified when he saw Greg’s angry glare.

Greg had to admit that made sense. ‘So if you heard everything………well what do you want to say?’

“Thank you.” Mycroft said simply, looking as though he had not slept and perhaps, just perhaps had shed some tears at night. “I have no words with which to thank you. I am still processing what I heard and I will make it up to him. I promise you that. I hope you believe me when I say that I had no idea. I knew he hated me for not being there for Redbeard but I never realized how much he missed me and how abandoned he felt. I don’t think I will ever forgive myself for being the cause of his…..his drug habit.”

Greg looked at the Most Dangerous Man in Britain, broken and miserable and shook his head. ‘It may have started because of that but you can’t lay the blame entirely at your door. He was an adult at the time, albeit with poor coping mechanisms, but an adult. And I have seen exactly how much you did for him, to save him protect him. Keep him alive.”

Both of them were silent for a minute remembering those two hellish occasions when Sherlock had been found with a near fatal overdose and saved by the skin of his teeth only because Mycroft had constant surveillance on him and Greg would always drop anything to go and rescue him.

It had been touch and go both times.

“Well, I must go now or Sherlock will be suspicious.” Greg said and got up.

Just then his phone rang. It was the Chief Super insisting on his presence for an important court case. Right away.

He frowned. He wouldn’t have time to go back to 221B and make it to the court in time.

Mycroft asked him politely if there was a problem and when Greg let him know he said “I will have someone drop off the groceries and let Sherlock know.” He sounded very helpful and sympathetic. “Maybe I can send someone to help him out with his meals and other things till you get back?”

“Sure.” Greg nodded, feeling unhappy at the idea that one of his last few days was going to be wasted by not being able to spend it with Sherlock but duty called and Greg had no justification to refuse.

.

.

That entire day Sherlock found himself being looked after by many random people, all of whom were Not Greg. He got increasingly cranky and irritable. They couldn’t feed him properly and he hated the way they made breakfast and he was annoyed by the way they breathed and the sounds they made when they sat and the way they smelt and nothing was right.

Nothing at all.

He wouldn’t let anyone put eyedrops for him and in fact secretly tried to remove the bandage and see if his eyes had healed. It was better but not fully and ……..he realized with a warm feeling that when he removed the bandages he wanted Greg to be the first thing he saw.

He threw a tantrum almost every hour at all the _IDIOTS_ he was surrounded by till Mrs Hudson finally gave him some herbal soothers and sat with him in the living room as he sulked on the sofa, lying down with his back to her.

.

.

It was almost tea time when Greg finally came back.

Sherlock recognized his tread on the stairs and stood up and almost flung himself onto him when he stepped into the flat.

Then a second later he pushed Greg away and scowled. “Why did you go away for so long?”

“It hasn’t even been an entire day Sherlock.” Greg said sounding tired. “I had some work at the court that needed me to be there. Sorry! But I am here now.” He smiled Sherlock’s pouting face. “Come, don’t sulk!” and he pulled him close and held him and petted him.

Mrs. Hudson was watching and smiling.

_Mrs. Turner better watch out, she thought to herself. Looks like she wasn’t going to be the only one with married ones._

Mycroft also allowed himself a smile as he watched the scene on the CCTV feed.

_It was good that the Chief Super needed only one brief phone call to ensure that he recalled the D.I for an urgent court appearance that kept him away for a day from Sherlock._

_After all distance makes the heart grow fonder._

.

.

“I missed you” Sherlock mumbled into his shoulder and Greg wasn’t sure he was meant to hear it so he didn’t reply.

_What would he say anyway?_

He couldn’t control his heart rate and breath but he could at least stop himself from saying things he may regret later when all this was over and Sherlock went back to being with John and being his acidic genius self.

He was too vulnerable right now and Greg would never ever take advantage of that.

.

.

He was guiding Sherlock back to the sofa while nodding goodbye and thanks to Mrs. Hudson who quietly left the flat.

Sherlock was still talking to him. “Remember you asked me on the first day why I do it?”

“Yes and you said to solve puzzles.”

“And also because it means being with you.” Sherlock said.

There was a sudden silence.

“Greg?”

“Yes.” Greg replied in a hoarse voice, uncertain, full of emotion. “That’s probably the nicest thing you have ever said to me.” He smiled tentatively.

“I mean it Greg. I …….I never realized how much I mean it till now.” Sherlock looked hesitant. “When my eyes get better, will you still spend time with me without just being at crime scenes?”

Greg thought his heart was going to burst.

_Did Sherlock just say what he thought he heard?_

He needed to clarify in case he had got it all wrong. “Yes of course Sherlock. But you don’t like going to the pub and hanging out with us after work.”

“I didn’t mean with everyone.” Sherlock said, clearly uncomfortable now. “I meant just…. you and me.”

“Of course Sherlock! Don’t worry, you won’t get rid of me that easily!” Greg said, laughing.

_Still trying to keep things open to a safer interpretation_. Because he didn’t want Sherlock to say something in such a vulnerable state that he would regret later. And he certainly didn’t think he himself would survive having his heart broken if that happened.

.

.

He went into the kitchen and Sherlock followed him.

Well, since Sherlock was holding his hand it was kind of inevitable.

Greg helped him sit on the countertop and told him not to be restless while he made some tea. When he was done he touched Sherlock at the waist to indicate he was ready to help him down. Sherlock rested his hands on his shoulders and slid down but stayed where he was, very, very close to Greg. They were the same height and being so close now he could feel his breath on his face.

Sherlock let that guide him and leaned in and kissed Greg on the lips.

It felt exactly as he had imagined. Soft, dry, warm.

Fantastic.

Greg kissed him back instinctively and Sherlock hummed with pleasure. His tongue made its way through those warm lips when suddenly Greg froze and pulled back.

“Sherlock.” he said in a voice rough with desire and not a little amount of panic.

And just then his phone rang. Loud and insistent.

Mycroft watched, wondering who it could be. Even he had been so absorbed by what he was seeing that he had not attempted to interrupt.

“Yes, Rashida? Yes it’s Lestrade. No, no it’s fine.”

Sherlock was still standing very close to him. Too close to him…… and Greg instinctively put his hand on his waist to hold him there.

“Yes, keep your phone on and I will have them track it and come and find you. Don’t worry. Rashida? Listen to me. It’s going to be ok.”

“Sorry love.” Greg said to Sherlock before he could think. “I have to go. Rashida is in trouble. I will ask Mycroft to send someone to be with you.”

As he got his coat and ran down the stairs he realized what they had done and what he had said. He wanted to hit his head against the wall. Repeatedly.

What the hell had he been thinking?!! He had NOT been thinking.

He rushed out, got a cab and spent the ride calling Sally, arranging the phone tracking and calling Mycroft to let him know exactly why he was rushing out since he figured he already knew that he had left the flat.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is back. Greg isn't. Sherlock is grumpy. But Mrs. Hudson knows how to solve it all.

Sherlock stayed awake for a long time but Greg did not return. When he woke up the next day he went out of his room and called out to Greg.

Anthea replied. “He hasn’t returned. Let me know when you want your tea.”

Sherlock merely turned around and went back to his bedroom and did not emerge all day.

.

.

In the evening someone pounded at his door. “Sherlock? Are you ok? I am back! I decided to come back two days early to rescues Greg.” came the cheerful voice of one John Watson, his flatmate.

Sherlock got up reluctantly and opened the door since he knew John might even break it down if he was worried for him.

“You are back early.” he said grumpily.

“Wow. Yes. I missed you too!” John said, with annoying cheerfulness. “Mrs. Hudson said Greg was called away. Anthea just eft too. Should I order takeaway for dinner and then you can tell me how your week was?”

Sherlock sat on his chair and tuned out John as he nattered away about the conference and his mates and hiking and pubs and all manner of awful things.

“So, you didn’t give Greg too much trouble I hope?” John said, finally. “I must call him and thank him. I had such a great holiday. If it wasn’t for him offering…..well….Sherlock? How was your week? You ok? You have been rather quiet.”

“You have been talking enough for six people.” scowled Sherlock. “You are worse than Mrs. Hudson. I have a headache now.”

John raised his eyebrows. _Wow. Himself was in a royal snit. What had happened?_

He knew he hadn’t exactly expected a warm welcome back but this was prickly even by Sherlock’s usual standards.

_Had something happened between him and Greg?_ That must be it. Odd that Greg wasn’t here when he came in. Mrs. Hudson did say he had been called away urgently last night.

He had a sudden flush of guilt. Sherlock must have gone round the bend because of not being to see. He should put him out of his misery John realized, feeling terrible now at having asked for the extra days from the A&E doctor.

“We can remove your bandages tomorrow morning Sherlock.” he said, hoping that would cheer him up.

Sherlock just grunted.

John went to get the food when the front doorbell rang and brought it up and served it on two plates. He put Sherlock’s serving in a bowl to make it easier to eat.

He pushed it towards Sherlock and put the spoon in his hands.

“Here, its chicken biryani.”

Sherlock suddenly wasn’t hungry at all.

He felt a crushing ache, deep inside him and he couldn’t tell where it was.

_Was it in his heart?_

There was a huge Greg –shaped emptiness in the flat and he wanted nothing more than to have Greg there, right now.

Warm and smiling and feeding him, wiping his lips so gently between spoonfuls, telling him fairy tales in his deep voice that vibrated in his very bones.

He didn’t even realize he was crying till John came close to him and said in a terribly worried voice. “Sherlock? Sherlock! What happened?? You are worrying me! Did you fight with Greg? Is there a problem?”

John was frantic with worry. _Sherlock, the genius who drove others to tears….. was crying?!_

He thought the world as he knew it had probably come to an end. He had no idea what to say and how to comfort him. He was quite sue that if he touched him there would be even more anger, so he just stood there.

Sherlock got up and found his way to his bedroom and slammed the door shut.

John took a deep breath and decided to ask Mrs. Hudson what had happened.

.

.

“Oh John, you are back!” Mrs. Hudson exclaimed. Then she focussed. “But weren’t you supposed to be back after two days?”

“Yes, Mrs. Hudson. Some of my mates needed to go back earlier than planned so there were only three of us left then. We figured we may as well get back too. I guess I missed London. Maybe even missed Sherlock difficult as it may be to believe.” And he gave Mrs. Hudson a knowing smile.

“Well dear.” Mrs. Hudson said all business like, “That handsome Inspector has been doing a wonderful job.”

“That is what I wanted to ask you Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock seems to be miserable. He refused to eat the food I served and…..”he hesitated, wondering if he should share this, but it had been so shocking he thought she ought to know. “Sherlock cried….a bit. I mean there were definitely some tears and then he stormed off into his room instead of sitting for lunch. So I wondered if Greg and he had a fight….I mean it’s not like Greg to have left him alone after agreeing to look after him.”

“Oh dear.” Mrs. Hudson said. “They didn’t have a fight. Quite the opposite.” she said enigmatically. “Do you have one of those things on your phone by which you can see the person you are talking to?”

“You mean video call? Facetime?” John asked.

“Yes, yes,” she said impatiently. “Just take off the poor man’s bandages and call the Inspector and let them talk.”

“Okaay.” John said slowly, wondering how he was going to persuade Sherlock to come out of his room and talk on the phone and what exactly had happened while he was gone.

.

.

He went back upstairs and knocked on Sherlock’s door. “Sherlock? I wanted to remove the bandages?”

There was no answer. John hesitated because they maintained the privacy of their rooms like a sacred space and he hadn’t gone in without being asked to , and that had only been a handful of times.

He turned the knob and found the door to be unlocked.

Sherlock he asked gently. It is better to remove the bandages now rather than in the bright sunlight of the day. Is that ok?”

He paused, trying to deduce from all that he had seen and heard so far. _Aha._ He may not be as fast as Sherlock at solving murders but he did know a thing or two about relationships.

“And I am going to video call Greg so you can see him when you open your eyes.”

That was obviously the right thing to say John realized, when Sherlock finally sat up on his bed and looked in his direction and nodded.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yarders get a ringside seat to the most shocking and possibly the angriest love confession the office had seen.

So John removed all the bandages but Sherlock sat there with his eyes closed.

John called Greg. He answered on the second ring.

“Hey Greg! How are you?”

“John?! You are back?” Greg asked, too tired to even look too surprised.

“Yes, came back early. Long story. You ok mate?”

“Yeah yeah. A case of an attempted abduction. Long story again. And I have been awake almost all night. Just tell Sherlock Rashida is fine.” He hesitated. “And tell him sorry I had to leave in a hurry.”

“Tell him yourself.” John said grinning and moved the phone so Sherlock and Greg could see each other.

Sherlock opened his eyes. The room was dark and his vision was still blurry.

Greg looked into those eyes and suddenly he was less tired. But his tone was wary when he spoke. “Hello Sherlock. Are you able to see now?”

_Yes Gregory. More than you can imagine. I had never realized how gorgeous you are nor how starved I would be for the sight of your face. Why are you not here?_

Sherlock just nodded and then turned away.

.

.

The next morning when Sherlock continued to be in this weird mood John finally decided he needed to be the brave soldier. Surely anything Sherlock could unleash on him was not worse than Afghanistan was it? He paused for a moment there. _Was it?_ Oh well, his best friend was miserable and he needed to help him. Emotions were a landmine for Sherlock at the best of time and didn’t he always tell him _John Watson, you keep me right?_ So it was time to do just that.

He made him tea and toast and put out some chocolate cookies that Mrs. Hudson had sent.

Sherlock nibbled on them half-heartedly and then gave a deep sigh.

That sigh was so very Byronic and dramatic that John almost wanted to giggle. _Could Sherlock look more lovesick if he tried?!_

John controlled his giddy laughter and asked directly, knowing that the genius would go mad if he tried to drop hints and beat around the bush.

“Sherlock? Are you missing Greg?”

Sherlock continued to look miserably at the chocolate cookie as if the world’s entire collection of tragedies resided within in.

“As soon as I wake up I think of him John. When I fall asleep I think of him. I want to make him happy. I want him near me all the time. I miss holding his hand and his hand on my face and his hand around my waist and his smell and his breath and his laugh and his voice.”

He paused. “I think I am …..….am I ….?”

John almost shouted with laughter. “Yes! Yes Sherlock you are! You are! Go tell him.”

“But I don’t think he does. I mean …I don’t know.”

“Well you never will until you ask him. Once you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however unbearable must be the truth.”

“However improbable John!” Sherlock snarled.

“Yes, that too. Go on now, talk to him.”

.

.

But a combination of stubbornness and fear made Sherlock wait and mope around for another two days.

On the third day he sent Greg a text message….or five.

{Bored. SH}

{Any cases? SH}

{Where are you? SH}

{We still haven’t discussed Pinocchio. The wooden boy who comes alive. SH}

{Still bored. SH}

.

.

By lunch time on day three he had used up every last shred of patience he had and he went to the Yard.

 _Stormed over_ to the Yard would be more accurate. He went in, coat swirling, hair flying and eyes flashing and went straight into Greg’s room without bothering to knock.

It’s a miracle the door still swung on the hinges and didn’t fall off.

Sally saw him and the mood he was in. Her boss had been somehow so mellow and melancholy when he had come back from leave that she was already itching to do something to the Freak, quite convinced that Lestrade’s mood was his fault. So when she saw Sherlock barge in like that she almost sprinted behind him to Greg’s office. Seeing her reaction a few others from the office also moved closer.

Thus they all had a ringside seat to the most shocking and possibly the angriest love confession the Yard had seen.

.

.

“Gregory Lestrade! Are you avoiding me?!” Sherlock demanded. “I texted you five times. What if it had been an emergency code?”

Greg’s expression changed to something odd.

“Oh.” Sherlock said. “You checked with John that I was safe.”

Again Greg was quiet, not sure what he could say that would make Sherlock less angry. But he got up from his chair and came to stand in front of him.

“So you really are avoiding me.” Sherlock said, looking absolutely devastated.

“I didn’t want you to feel you had to do anything Sherlock.” Greg said wary and tense. “You were vulnerable then. You may regret what you said. Or did.”

Sherlock stared at him in astonishment. “You stayed away to _protect_ me?! I thought you _hated_ me for saying what I did and you didn’t want to….”

“Well, you had been under my care for so many days. It could have been a bit like a Stockholm Syndrome you know,” Greg said helplessly.

Sherlock gave out a bark of laughter. “Who was holding whom hostage Greg? We were both willing and capable and ….consenting.”

 

There was a murmur among the spectators. They were getting a sense of why the gladiator and lion fights had been so enthralling.

Quick and quiet bets were being made.

The wild maned Angry Lion or the strong and brave Silver Fox. _Who was going to win this round?_

 

Sherlock spoke again. “So are you saying you didn’t want to? You don’t……..”

“Oh Sherlock. I want to.” Greg said instantly. “I have wanted to for years but never allowed myself to think of it or accept it. There was too much risk that things would go wrong. And I didn’t want you to go back to doing….to your dark days Sunshine.” The nickname slipped out before he could stop it.

“So can we have this now?” Sherlock said, his anger disappearing instantly like mist under the sun. “Please? Do I need to have another disaster before we can be close again? I don’t want to do this without you.” He closed his eyes. “I don’t ever want to be without you. Greg. Please.”

Sherlock could smell the familiar aftershave as Greg came closer. Sherlock put out his hands and Greg held them both and interlaced their fingers as naturally as the wind through his tree.

Sherlock could feel Greg’s lips on his own and when they finally broke apart he could hear some cheering from outside.

.

.

Since Greg still had to finish work for the day Sherlock had reluctantly gone back home, scowling as Sally wolf whistled behind his retreating back.

_Damn the woman._

_._


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft comes by with a peace offering. Is Sherlock willing to move on from the past?  
> Also.... does Mycroft go on a date with Mrs. Hudson?!

He reached Baker Street and stopped abruptly in front of the main door.

The knocker had been straightened.

_Ugh. Mycroft was here. Why had he come now?_

_Why had he not come earlier?_

He climbed up the stairs, still giddy with excitement at what had happened, but annoyed that he was now going to have to deal with Mycroft. Who was sitting in John’s chair as usual, waistcoat, tie, umbrella, all perfect and in place.

John seemed to be in the kitchen making yet another round of tea.

“Sherlock,” Mycroft said with a tip of his head and a thin smile.

“What do you want?” Sherlock asked angrily, flinging his coat on the sofa.

“I just wanted to see if you are well.”

“It would have been helpful if you had come to ask that when I was _actually ill_. You were too busy for me I suppose.”

“On the contrary brother mine. It seemed to me as though _you_ were too busy to miss my meddling presence.”

Sherlock just scowled some more. _Bloody Mycroft. Always had to be right_.

“I trust you did receive the …gifts.”

“Yes. They were adequate.” Sherlock snapped at him.

Mycroft smiled. That was as close to a thank you he was going to get.

“I do have a peace offering for you today.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. “What is it? Where is it? Please don’t be tedious and make me close my eyes before you give it.”

“In case you are unable to keep it I will understand. I assure you that I will not take it personally. I have tried to fulfil your wishes as I best understood them. However I may have been blind to some events which…”

“Oh stop with your official wittering.” Sherlock interrupted him and almost growled. “And give me my gift.”

“It is in your room, Brother Mine.”

Sherlock strode into his room and saw a large box. A large box with air holes and tied with a deep red ribbon.

His face was a picture as he deduced what it could be.

“You didn’t!” Sherlock said almost breathlessly. “Mycroft! Did you?”

“Yes I did Sherlock. I wish I had been able to realize much earlier and saved you and me a lot of hurt and distress. Can I apologize?”

“Yes you can. “ Sherlock said airily. “But then I would have to reciprocate which I am not in the mood to do, so keep it to yourself.”

Mycroft had to suppress a smile. _This was progress._

John had come along by then and was looking at them as if they had sprouted a second head and were speaking in an alien language.

Sherlock bent down and opened the box and scooped out the sleeping puppy. An Irish Setter. Like Redbeard.

And yes, he cuddled him. There really was no other word.

John was not too dazed to whip out his phone and take a photo.

 _Oh this was going to be good ammunition_ he thought with a grin.

“I don’t know how we can manage him though.” Sherlock said.

“I asked Greg.” Mycroft replied. “And he said that between all of you it could be managed.”

“Since when does he speak for me?” Sherlock said, annoyed.

“Since everyone in the New Scotland Yard saw you declare your love for him and snog the living daylights out of him I believe.” Mycroft said with a thin smile. “To his credit he did say that the final decision was yours.”

Sherlock looked at the puppy.

“So will you name him Redbeard?” his older brother asked.

“No. I think I would like to finally let go of the past.” Sherlock said, giving Mycroft a certain look.

Mycroft nodded to acknowledge. _Oh Brother Mine_ , he thought. _I was keeping score with Gregory for your happiness but this….this is more than I could have hoped for in seven lifetimes._

Sherlock said thoughtfully, ‘I will call him Benji. Maybe like the puppy Greg showed me. Or Benjamin Franklin. He discovered and invented hundreds of things. So, who knows.”

But Sherlock’s air of genius erudition failed utterly the very next minute when the puppy licked his face rather thoroughly and barked and he cooed at it and hugged it some more.

John looked at Mycroft and shook his head. _Would wonders never cease?!_

.

.

A week later Sherlock and Greg stepped out of the cab and stood in front of 221. Greg looked at Sherlock. They were still holding hands and he would have gladly snogged him right there on the street. He was quite sure that even if Mrs Hudson saw them she would be more delighted that embarrassed.

But just as Sherlock was about to take out his key, the front door opened and Mrs. Hudson herself came out. She was dressed in her very best and wearing a magnificent hat.

“Wow, Mrs Hudson! You look fantastic!” Greg said. “Where are you going if I may ask?”

“Oh I have a very special date my dear.” Mrs Hudson said with a half- smile. “I will tell you when I get back. Unless you are too busy by then.” And she looked pointedly at their held hands and gave him a lush wink. Greg found that he could still blush like a teenager.

Sherlock spotted a black car pull over and was stunned speechless as Mrs. Hudson got in. The driver had opened the door to help her in but it was obvious that someone else was sitting inside.

“Mycroft?!” He said in an un- believing whisper. “Mrs. Hudson has a date with Mycroft? Please Greg make me un- see what I think I just saw.”

Greg was equally surprised but he murmured that there must be some explanation.

“Yeah. He is probably taking her to meet the Queen.” Sherlock said and they started giggling.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Truly there are none so blind as those who cannot see.

Much later Sherlock and Greg really were busy as Mrs. Hudson had predicted and hence they missed seeing Mycroft escort Mrs. Hudson back inside and then sit in her dining room as she made tea for them both while talking nineteen to the dozen.

 

“And then Martha she said, Elizabeth of course, Philip isn’t really very talkative ………Elizabeth patted my hand and said _Oh the things we do for the happiness of our boys_.”

 

In the silence that followed they heard some particularly ghastly moans from upstairs. If they didn’t know better they would suspect that someone was dying or being strangled.

Mycroft and Mrs. Hudson both pointedly ignored the sounds. Though Mycroft did make a mental note to arrange for some sound proofing upstairs. _Mrs. Hudson really deserved better at her age._

 

Mycroft remembered seeing Sherlock holding hands with Gregory and looking head over heels in love and beaming with joy when he had come to pick up Mrs. Hudson.

He wondered if it was worth finding someone like that for himself…….but then he remembered he was only half way through reading Rudyard Kipling’s Kim and Her Majesty had gifted him her entire collection of best British Biographies. He wasn’t sure he would find anyone whose company would be better than the lovely hours he was going to spend reading all those.

 

So he put the fine coronation tea cup into the fine memorial saucer and reluctantly bid goodbye to Mrs. Hudson.

“My gratitude once again for the wonderful undercover job with the matchmaking accomplished.” he said graciously. “I am happy that I could manage the invitation for tea with The Queen in exchange.” Then he gave her a short bow and said his goodbyes.

When he reached the door he stopped and said “You really should have been in the MI6 Mrs. Hudson.”

 

 “Oh, I was dear. Just ask your Mummy. We both were.” She murmured to herself, thinking, truly there are none so blind as those who cannot see.

Then she settled down to call Mrs. Turner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here it is , all complete ! Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it ! Anything with the gorgeous Greg.....Do drop in a line in comment. It is always exciting to know what you liked about the story :)


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